


Dark Waters

by Hexalys



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: But he can be a prick too, Demons Are Assholes, Female Davy Jones, Gen, Jack Feels, Matchmaker Manny, Mermaids can be pirates too, North Listens, Pitch Black Has Feelings, Sandy is a BAMF, Shit ton of Original Characters, Supportive Death, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexalys/pseuds/Hexalys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She woke up in another world, in a place where Myths and Fairytales were real. Now she's one of them, chosen by the Man in the Moon to become Davy Jones. When the events in the movie start to take place, who does she side with, the Guardians or Pitch Black? Yet unbeknownst to all, there's something far worse than the Nightmare King lurking in the deep. Pre-RotG/RotG/Post-RotG</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Rise of Davy Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.” –Tahereh Mafi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Rise of the Guardians, nor the book series it was based off of.
> 
> Okay, so I've seen plenty of stories where a person from our world gets sucked into the RotG universe. It's a somewhat common premise, but there aren't a lot of well written ones. Plus, each one is either about the OC falling for Jack or Bunny (Ugh, save me from the Furries). This story is not a love story, though I admit there will be some romance. But I can certainly promise you that my OC will pick a path most heroes don’t choose. So, there you go. Enjoy and review!

It was dark.

That was the first thing she became aware of as she hung between sleep and consciousness. In her mind, she pictured the darkness to be endless, surrounding her. Strangely at ease with that thought, she simply allowed herself to lie in its' soft embrace, comforted by it. She wasn't scared of the dark, but rather felt at peace with it and with herself. It was as if she was just going to bed after a long, tiring day. And then suddenly, there was a light, so warm and welcoming that it pushed back the darkness. It was familiar in some ways. She remembered light, that there was more than just this darkness. But it was also different, it felt… raw, focused, and powerful.

She felt herself being pulled upwards and gasped as the darkness broke away. New sensations bombarded her, a heavy wetness clung to her body and cool air blew across her face. Distantly, faded memories came with the sensations, of swimming in a lake, of winds both harsh and soft being a near constant presence. She realized that what she’d mistakenly believed to be darkness had actually been water. She opened her eyes upon breaking the surface, finding that she was breathing heavily, as if she had been holding her breath for a long time. Everything was blurry at first, a half-remembered thought of needing her glasses to see left just as quickly as it came, as she blinked and found the world around her shift into focus. An expanse of darkness, though not as heavy as the one she’d left, greeted her first. But a sharp brightness, the light she recognized from before, instantly caught her attention.

It was the moon. It shone luminously in its full stage, wrapping its warmth around her in a soothing manner that made her feel safe. In a flash of clarity, she knew that she’d seen the moon a thousand times before, and yet she felt that this was the first time she saw more than just its cratered, silvery-white surface.

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

The young woman tilted her head to the side in curiosity. Had the moon said that? There was a niggling in the back of her mind. A new alertness that hadn’t existed inside the darkness itched for attention, but she could only stare at the moon and bask in its’ warm light at the moment. Her feet touched something solid and she looked down to see that she was standing, though a moment ago she could’ve sworn she’d been floating, on a wooden structure. Looking around more closely, the woman realized she was actually standing on a mast that towered over a large wooden ship. A dark blue ocean surrounded her for miles in each direction, reaching out towards the shadowy horizon. The itch was back, fiercer and more determined than before.

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

The woman looked back up at the moon, suddenly feeling very confused. Was that supposed to be her name? She shook her head, the itch easing a little as the answer came to her a second later. No, her name was Davina “Davie” Elson, not Davy Jones. With that memory, it seemed that the fog that muffled her thoughts began to clear and Davie could suddenly recall who she was, the life she had led. It was startling, the sudden upheaval of memories, and it had the odd effect of leaving her breathless with a rush of adrenaline. Not unlike taking that last step up the stairs, only to find that she’d reached the top. And then Davie remembered something very important.

The moon shouldn't be able to talk.

However, as impossible as it seemed, Davie noticed that this wasn’t the most troubling thing right then. Her earlier curiosity gave way to worry as a flood of questions filled her mind. Why was she on a ship? Where was she? What was going on? How did she get there? Davie tried to recall where she'd been before waking up in the water, but there was nothing there, her memory was blank. She should be panicking, and she could feel it building under the surface, but all Davie could muster was a weak shake of her head. She felt disconnected, like nothing was real. Then again, maybe it wasn’t? Maybe she was dreaming? She pinched herself and sighed when nothing changed.

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

Davie looked back up at the moon, unreasonably irritated with it for not making any sense. If it was going to talk, it might as well say something useful. She looked down again, her situation finally clicking with just how high up she was, and that she was somehow balancing on a surface that couldn’t be any bigger than two feet. Fear made her pulse race as she quickly scrambled into the safety of the crow's nest, hugging the surrounding wood for dear life.

"What’s going on!?" Davie shouted before looking back up at the moon, as if it had the answers. In any other situation, she would have scoffed at herself, but there was nothing normal about this. Predictably, the moon was silent, offering nothing but its' warm light and she took a deep breath. "Okay, try to think about this logically. I’m not dreaming, this is way too real to be a dream." She muttered as she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the salty wind that ruffled her hair. "I'm stuck in what looks like the middle of the ocean, trapped on a colonial styled ship with only the moon, which is somehow talking, for company." Needless to say, she was doing a poor job of calming herself down.

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

Davie turned to glare at the moon, feeling just about ready to tell it to shut the hell up, when she caught herself staring again, mesmerized by it in a way that she hadn’t been since she was probably a toddler. The longer she looked, the more she thought she could make out a face smiling back at her. Of all things, a movie Davie had seen recently came to her, the Rise of the Guardians, and she remembered the first scene of the film. The similarity was too striking to ignore and Davie felt her jaw drop as she gazed up at the moon. But that wasn’t right, was it?

It was the Man in the Moon.

"Are you s-saying that… t-this is real? You're real?" There wasn't a verbal answer, but she felt the Man in the Moon's light thicken and embrace her, much like a hug. Davie leaned into it, feeling that a hug was exactly what she needed right now. "But how? I don’t understand." She gasped, feeling lightheaded, dizzy, overwhelmed by this bizarre situation, and a step away from hyperventilating. Again he didn't answer her, but his light did become warmer, stronger, and it surprisingly soothed her frayed nerves a little. It still took her several minutes before she was calm enough to speak again. So many questions scrambled up her throat, but only one, perhaps the most important, managed to leave the tip of her tongue. "Why am I here?"

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

And then Davie abruptly understood what the Moon in the Moon had been trying to tell her. She'd died, somehow. She couldn’t remember it happening, and a very large part of her hoped she never would. Then, for whatever reason, he'd brought her back to life to be Davy Jones. She frowned at that. She knew Davy Jones was just a fictional character, a ghost story sailors had made up hundreds of years ago, though she was more familiar with the version of Davy Jones from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. She was certain though that none of the renditions of Davy Jones had ever been depicted as a woman.

"Isn't Davy Jones supposed to be a guy?" Davie asked skeptically as she looked down at herself, as if to check that she was still female. She was, much to her relief, but Davie quickly found that her clothes had changed. Fittingly enough, she now had the ensemble of a pirate.

She was wearing black leather-like pants, the kind she’d only ever seen in historical films, that were tucked into sturdy brown boots that reached the middle of her calves. Oddly enough, she found that a fin-like appendage stuck out from the back of her boot, going upwards a few inches and ending just below the back of her knees. Curious, Davie reached down to touch it, wondering why the Man in the Moon had decided to add such a weird feature to her clothes.

She jumped back with a startled yelp as she realized that the fin wasn't a part of the boot, but a part of her. ‘ _I have fin thingies growing out of my calves!_ ’ Panicked, Davie quickly went to inspect the rest of her body and found smaller matching fins located on the side of her arms, resting in between her wrists and elbows. The fins were a light blue color, the webbing in between being a few shades lighter, and there were patches of blue and seafoam green scales covering the areas of skin where each fin rested. Her complexion was darker too, she noted numbly amongst her growing alarm. Her fair skin tone was tanner than it had ever been, colored a soft bronze. It was the kind of tan those vain Valley girls living in Miami liked to have.

Her trembling hands flew to her face and Davie let out a relieved sigh as she felt smooth flesh and not scales or gills, though her ears were now pointy, like an elf from a Tolkien novel. She discovered, much to her chagrin, that her long hair had also changed colors. Where before it had been a dark blonde, it was now a light blue shade that matched her fins. Her fingernails had also changed. They were longer and filed to perfection, looking as if she'd just had a professional pedicure. They were also a seafoam green hue and Davie hoped that the coloring was just nail polish. Somewhat relieved that she hadn’t been completely mutated, Davie hesitantly continued to explore the rest of her outfit.

She was wearing a seafoam green belt, a white long-sleeved shirt and a deep blue vest over it with simple black buttons. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, purposefully tucked away from her arm fins. She also wore a brown belt-like strap over her chest, holstering a sword in a deep blue sheath which rested unobtrusively on her left hip. A large hat rested on her head and it, ridiculously enough, reminded her of the one Captain Hook wore in Disney’s Peter Pan. She took it off to examine it more closely.

The fabric of the hat was black and it had four feathers stitched into the right side. The first feather was the same deep blue color and was by far the largest and fluffiest feather she'd ever seen. Next were two smaller feathers that were the same length, but while one was a light blue, the other was colored seafoam green. The last and smallest feather had blue and white strips. A pink starfish was stitched to the side of her hat, keeping the right brim side pointed up and making the already vibrant feathers even more noticeable.

As Davie continued her search to see what other changes she'd gone through, she found that a thin trail of scales went up along her spine, ending at the base of her head. There were a few more random patches of scales over the rest of her body as well, but at least the Man in the Moon hadn't turned her into a human/animal hybrid like he'd done with Tooth.

Carefully, she pulled out her sword next, recognizing it as a simple cutlass, the classic sword of the pirate, and gave it a few swings. She'd never held a real sword before, but for some odd reason, she felt comfortable wielding the foreign weapon in her right hand. The hilt of the sword had a gold guard with a seafoam green colored grip. A deep blue tassel was tied on the end; the leather twine was a few inches long and had a miniature pink starfish resting at the end. The silver blade wasn't too thick or too thin and it curved upwards a little at the tip. Satisfied, Davie sheathed her new sword and turned her attention to the ship.

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

"Yeah, great, whatever. How ‘bout you tell me something useful?" Davie grumbled as she peeked over the railing of the crow's nest, still feeling miffed about the fins. "Like how to get down from here maybe?” She paused in thought, looking up at the moon dubiously. “I don't suppose I can fly like Jack, huh?" She asked, not getting a response from the Man in the Moon. She hadn't really been expecting one anyways. He seemed rather limited in the area of communication.

The wind responded though, a sudden gust knocked up a long rope and she instinctively reached out to grab it. Davie looked down uncertainly, but the wind brushed up against the side of her face, easing her fears a little. ‘ _Well,_ _it works in the movies._ ’ With that thought and a shrug, Davie clutched the thick rope and jumped before she could change her mind. A scream broke free from her mouth as she swung downwards, with the wind pushing hard against her back to make her go even faster.

Her yell quickly turned into laughter, fear becoming exhilaration.

Davie stumbled onto the upper deck of the ship, near the helm, and she let out a slightly hysterical chuckle as the wind tugged on her clothes, as if it were asking her to do that again. The waves batted against the ship and the breeze carried misty sea-spray up to her face, spreading it out gently over her tan skin. Davie sighed happily, feeling as if she'd just been reunited with an old friend. She had always loved being on the water.

" ** _Davy Jones._** "

"Alright, I get it, I'm Davy Jones." Davie said with a huff of a laugh as she turned back to the moon. "I take it the ship is mine?" She asked and took the burst of warm light as a yes. "Well, I suppose I'll have to think of a name for it then." The white sails lifted outwards suddenly and the ship unexpectedly rocked beneath her feet in a way she knew that it normally wouldn’t, not with the small waves it was on. She turned to look at the deck suspiciously. Was the ship alive too? "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that my job is to help kids."

A thick moonbeam shone down by her feet while part of the shadow coming from the mainmast began to stretch and change. It shifted into a small figure that could only be a child, lost and adrift at sea. A ship appeared suddenly with a shadowy outline of Davie pulling the kid out of the water. The shadows shifted to her docking the ship near land and safely dropping the child off to be reunited with their family. She nodded.

"Save the kids, right? I can do that." She replied lowly, trying not to feel daunted by the unexpected to task. Saving lives was a big step up from making toys or collecting teeth. The shadowy images changed again and Davie saw herself playing with some children, each small silhouette dressed in their own pirate garb and brandishing toy swords. The knot of unease in her stomach loosened a little at the sight. "And I get to play with them while they’re on my ship? Sweet, I'd hate for this to be all work and no play."

As the moonbeam faded, Davie took up position behind the massive steering wheel, gripping the wooden pegs at ten and two. The new Spirit looked out over the ocean, chuckling as the wind battered against her back, eager to start the voyage. She tipped her feathered hat towards the Man in the Moon, feeling his presence leave, and adjusted the sword resting at her hip.

"Alright wind, show me what you've got." She called and the wind roared in response. The sails jutted forwards as rushing air pushed hard against the white fabric, causing the ship to sail for the first time with a strong lurch. The wind seemed to know which way to go and Davie happily followed its' lead, letting it take her wherever it wanted.

* * *

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours later when Davie realized there was one small problem with her new ship. She had no idea how to steer it. Oh, she knew the basics well enough, but she was more familiar with modern boats, not the kind that looked like they belonged in the 1600s. There was also a reason ships this big had crews on them. She couldn’t steer the ship and tend to the sails at the same time. And she certainly didn't have any idea how to navigate through the terrible storm she was currently stuck in.

Really, she kind of felt like the Man in the Moon had set her up to fail.

The rain was as hard as hail. The loud clap of thunder reverberated through the ocean itself, and the lightning which streaked across the clouds every few minutes only seemed to intensify the storm’s harshness, filling it with even more dangers. The wind tried its best to help, but there was a more powerful gale pushing hard from the opposite direction. The sea that Davie had felt such a connection to earlier didn't calm at her pleas, but simply continued to smash against her ship with crushing waves.

This was a natural storm that she and the wind had no control over. Yet despite the rain that pelted against her body painfully and the threat of the massive waves trying to pull her into the sea, Davie felt excited. Oh, there was definitely fear and worry, but that was just part of what made it so thrilling. She'd always been an adrenaline junkie.

She'd been the wild six year old kid who’d climbed the tallest tree on the playground because of a dare. The rash eleven year old who’d ventured into a dark cave when the other kids at summer camp had been too afraid. The reckless teenager at fifteen years old who had jumped off a thirty foot waterfall to prove she wasn't chicken. And finally, she'd been the twenty-six year old adult who’d gone skydiving and rock climbing every other weekend.

As the wind brushed up beside her, almost in reassurance, Davie started to laugh, telling it that everything was fine. She was having fun. That is, until she spotted the raging whirlpool not even twenty yards ahead of her. Davie tried to steer the ship away, but the pull of the tide was too strong. Dread pooled in her stomach, enthusiasm lost as they drew closer to the vortex. There was no getting away from it. She felt the ship shudder under her feet, as if it was afraid, and she patted the wheel gently, whispering that she wouldn't abandon it.

A captain always goes down with the ship.

Davie looked up at the heavens, searching for the Man in the Moon, only to see the entire sky covered in dark ominous clouds. Not even twenty-four hours after being made Davy Jones and she was already in a life-or-death situation. She was pretty sure that this officially made her the worst spirit-thing ever. As she stared at the swirling water ahead, she morbidly wondered if it would kill her quickly or if her new state of being would prolong the death, letting her get beat up until she either drowned or was crushed. _'A little help right now would be much appreciated moon guy._ '

And in answer to her silent request Davie heard a shout from nearby her ship. Understandably, she blinked in confusion. Had she imagined the voice? She looked around, but could see no ships nearby. So she held fast against the helm, trying to keep the rudder still as best as she could, almost letting go in shock as she saw a woman climb over the ship's railing and step onto the deck. Before Davie could say anything, more women joined the first, who by then was already beginning to dish out orders.

"Molucca, Timor, Baltic, Coral, furl the sails immediately! Okhotsk, Red, lower the anchor, it wilt not halt the ship, but it wilt slow our pace. Halmahera, Yellow, I need thee to man the riggings and ropes, if anything goeth wrong, yell. The rest of ye, batten down the hatches!" The woman shouted before she approached Davie at the helm.

"Err… hi?" She said as the woman stopped beside her and wanted nothing more than to slap herself upside the head. From the woman's unimpressed look, Davie had a feeling she wanted to hit her too. Which was completely reasonable. "Not that I'm not grateful for the assistance or anything, but uh, who are you?"

"I am Undine, thine First Mate." The woman replied firmly, her dark green eyes burrowing into Davie. Just like with how she could feel the ship and the wind, Davie just knew that Undine was indeed supposed to be here First Mate. "Thou stepest aside, we shalt handle this."

After that, the situation not only became surreal, it also turned anticlimactic. Undine and the others skillfully worked together, leaving Davie to twiddle her thumbs as she watched them bustle around the ship. It took only a couple of minutes for Undine to steer the vessel away from the whirlpool and about another thirty to get them out of the storms range altogether.

As Undine congratulated the other women in avoiding a crisis, Davie finally stepped forward to make her presence known. The women all turned to her and she stared back warily, her hand placed discreetly on the hilt of her cutlass. She made no move to speak, trying to project confidence, so Undine took it upon herself to break the ice.

"Allow me to properly introduce ourselves, Davy Jones–"

" _Captain._ " Davie interjected without thinking, instantly cursing her smart mouthed nature and her love for Jack Sparrow. Fortunately, it seemed Undine wasn't the type to take offense at being interrupted.

"Captain Davy Jones." Undine corrected herself, sounding much more likable than she had earlier as her tone warmed up a little. "The Man in the Moon created us to aide thee and the children in any way possible."

"So, you're like my Yetis and Fairies?" She asked without thinking, remembering the helpers that North and Tooth had in the movie. She heard more than one of the girls giggle and Davie, embarrassed, quickly tried to explain herself better. "See, North has these Yetis that help him make toys and Tooth has her Fairies to collect the teeth. They help them, uh, like you're here to help me…" She trailed off there, once again feeling like a complete idiot, but Undine simply nodded.

"Then yes, I suppose we art thine Yetis and Fairies, Captain." She responded calmly while smiling a little, and this time, Davie chuckled with the others while mentally releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

And just like that, she had herself a crew.

* * *

Davie steered the Flying Dutchman over the few dark clouds that covered the night sky, basking in the half-moon’s light. She had discovered, quite accidentally, that her ship could fly only a few days after meeting Undine and the others. Of course after finding that out, she absolutely had to call it the Flying Dutchman. Her crewmates had been less than thrilled with the fact that the ship could fly though. They belonged to the seas, not the sky. She had understood their aversion to flying and accepted the fact that her voyages in the air would be accompanied by the Wind alone.

So while the Flying Dutchman had officially gained a crew, more often than not Davie was traveling solo. Her crewmates spent most of their time patrolling the seas, constantly searching for any child who might need help. She hadn't seen the others much besides sparing a few minutes to catch up and to give their reports about any children they'd managed to save. Just last week Black had saved a little girl who'd fallen overboard somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.

This brought her to the present, not even two months later after waking up as a spirit, and flying over Europe on her incredibly awesome ship. Davie looked down at the little town below, still unused to seeing such small and underdeveloped buildings. Where once her world had been filled with towering structures made of metal and concrete, it was now replaced with small houses made of wood and stones, dirt roads instead of asphalt, horses instead of cars, torches instead of lightbulbs.

Not only had the Man in the Moon brought her back to life, he'd also sent her back in time.

The year was now 1413, the beginning of what would one day be known as the Age of Discovery and Explorations. It was three hundred years before Jack Frost would exist and six hundred years before the events in the movie took place. She swore up a storm after making that little discovery and fortunately for Manny, it had been a new moon later that night.

As Davie dipped the Dutchman a little to sail through a cloud, she reached up with a hand to touch a trailing puff of vapor, coating her arm in water that felt wonderful on her fin. She let out a content sigh and looked up at the half-moon, finding a bit of peace in the quiet moment.

Suddenly a stream of golden sand appeared out of nowhere, swirling around the mainmast’s white sails. Davie smiled widely; she knew who that belonged to. Sure enough, when she looked over the starboard bow, she spotted the Sandman hovering besides the Dutchman in a little golden rowboat made of sand.

"Ahoy!" She yelled towards Sandy, who created his own pirate hat with a very extravagant feather, and tipped it off to her in greetings.

Davie had decided a month ago that since she looked like a pirate, then she should sound one too. She'd spent most of her time around the pirates and sailors of the seas, picking up on their archaic lingo and mannerisms. It was more difficult than she thought and she often caught herself slipping into her old style of speech if she didn't concentrate on what she was saying. Surprisingly, Davie found that she actually enjoyed talking ye olden times. It was fun, a self-made challenge to distract her when she needed to amuse herself. Plus, if she did talk normally, using her century's slang and diction, she was pretty sure she would confuse the hell out of her crew and others.

Sandy disembarked from his boat and stepped onto the Dutchman, where Davie greeted him excitedly, knowing she’d lucked out. He was easily the most amiable of the Guardians and she hoped that making a good impression on him would help when she eventually met the others. She took in the shorter man's appearance and resisted the out of character urge to hug him. While there’d been an undeniable cuteness about Sandy’s design in the movie, what with his round little body and variety of facial expression, it was no comparison to how utterly adorable he was in real life.

"Evenin' matey, my name be Captain Davy Jones and this fine ship that yer standin' on be the Flyin' Dutchman. I take it ye be the Sandman?" She asked gruffly, earning a happy nod from Sandy. The fact that he didn't laugh or raise a brow at her words scored him a few points in her book. When she'd been practicing her pirate-y grammar, Davie had worried that others would think that she sounded like an idiot. Undine certainly hadn’t been impressed and a couple of the crew still giggled at her attempts. "Then it be an honor t' hath ye on me ship, Sandy."

Again he nodded, before shooting off a few streams of Dream Sand that went overboard and down towards the children below. Davie smiled a little, thinking about all the good dreams Sandy must be giving at the moment. It made her speculate about what she brought to children. North conveyed Wonder, Tooth guarded their Memories, Bunny inspired Hope, and Jack would have Fun one day. What was her gift to children going to be? Or was having a Center a Guardian only thing? Before she could get too lost in thought, a growing habit she suspected to have come from spending most of her time alone, the Sandman created a hand of sand that waved about wildly to regain her attention.

Davie spent the rest of the night talking to Sandy, whose full name was actually Sanderson. She spouted out odd things at random, jumping from subject to subject, but Sandy didn't seem to mind her inability to stay focused on one topic for very long. A good thing too, since she’d apparently become out of practice with holding a conversation after so long. In turn, Sandy offered his own opinions and replies by spelling out sentences with his sand, something Davie had mentally dubbed as sand language. She learned that Sandy was actually her elder by about a couple thousand years, officially making him the oldest Guardian. When she'd asked about other Spirits like them, he’d told her about North and his Yetis, Tooth and her Fairies, Bunny and his Stone Eggs. She even learned that the Guardians had only defeated Pitch sixteen years ago, putting an end to the Dark Ages.

Now there was a problem Davie had been reluctant to think about ever since she woke up. What was she going to do when the events in the movie started? Was she going to side with Jack and the Guardians, or was she going to side with Pitch? It she wanted to be practical, the smart choice was obviously the Guardians. They had won after all. They were the good guys. But out of the all the characters from the movie, Pitch had been her favorite. That wasn't to say that she didn't like the others; North, Jack, and Sandy were right there under Pitch, she had just liked the Nightmare King more, that's all. Maybe she could pull a Sweden and remain neutral?

Food for thought.

"So ye defeated the Boogeyman? Ye dost more than give sweet dreams?" Davie asked skeptically, even though she very well knew that he could kick her butt. Sandy nodded seriously and she scoffed, barely holding back a snicker as she saw the frustrated look on his face, which just made Sandy look all the more adorable and not at all like the badass that he really was. Some of her humor must have shown through though, because he was beginning to look even more irritated.

Sandy furrowed his brow and pointed at the cutlass by her waist, the sand morphing above his head to take the form of two dueling fencers. The sand shifted again, becoming a question mark.

"Course I know how t' fight." She replied with bravado, now it was Sandy's turn to look doubtful. Only Davie had the feeling that he wasn't faking it. "S'not complicated, the pointy end jus’ goes into the other guy, don'it? Easy 'nough matey." Now Sandy looked really unimpressed. "Fine, how bout we hath ourselves a little mock fight then, jus’ t' test our skills."

While Sandy seemed to think it over, Davie removed her hat and set in on a peg of the steering wheel. She went out onto the open deck, eyes focusing on nothing as she mentally reviewed all the knowledge she'd gathered from watching others learn how to fight. A month of secondhand tutoring under her belt and yet here she was, challenging the Sandman to a fight. It was definitely not the brightest thing she’d ever done. She moved into position a good ten paces away from the mainmast and watched as Sandy floated over to the smaller mast near the aft of the ship. Right, Sandy wasn't a fan of close combat; he preferred to use his whips in battle.

She was startled slightly as a sudden beam of moonlight highlighted the deck and she sent a glance up at the moon. Manny's presence appeared above as the sky became brighter, and his moonbeams covered her ship with their unnatural warmth. She shared a look with Sandy, who simply shrugged likely saying that the Man in the Moon just wanted to watch. He conjured up a cloud of sand for him to hover on and a pair of innocent looking streams of sand took form in his pudgy little hands. Sandy gave her a nod before his face took on a more stern expression.

Davie took up her own fighting stance, bringing out her cutlass and brandishing it upwards, feet separated by several inches as she moved to stand sideways. Sandy seemed to be assessing her form, and from the way he shook his head she could tell she'd already done something wrong. Still, she had always been the "learn by doing" type of person, so she charged forwards anyways, blade raised high.

Sandy launched a whip at her and Davie moved to cut it, dumbly treating the weapon as a normal whip and not as the Dream Sand that he could easily manipulate the shape of. The sand wrapped around the blade of her cutlass and it was only her foreknowledge of Sandy's abilities that had Davie let go of the sword before he could reel her in. She stumbled a little and looked up to see Sandy smiling at her, waving her sword about and reforming a pirate hat on his head. Well, that had ended embarrassingly fast. The moon’s light flickered briefly and Davie suddenly felt like Manny was laughing at her.

"Two out o' three?" Sandy smirked and handed over her sword. As they continued to spar, the older Spirit started offering corrections and ideas for how she could wield her cutlass better. She guessed, after watching North fight up close, that Sandy must have picked up a thing or two over the years.

They finally called it a night hours later when Manny's presence left the ship. Sandy stayed to talk with her a little more while the Dutchman flew over other continents so that he could still spread his dreams to sleeping children. It was only when the sun began to peak over the horizon did they say their goodbyes. Davie got him to promise to visit again soon, preferably when her crew was present. She was interested to see how her shipmates would react to Sandy and his adorableness.

As she headed back to the seas, Davie’s thoughts eventually returned to Pitch and about what she would do when the events of the movie finally started. Surely she was meant to do something. There had to be a reason for why the Man in the Moon brought her here, especially since he no doubt knew how much she liked Pitch.

What did Manny want from her? What was she supposed to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm so happy to finally get this story posted. You have no idea how glad it made me to write this. I've been holding back on putting this up for a few months now, since I wanted to focus on the stories I've already written, but I got bored and simply couldn't resist the temptation any longer.
> 
> This story will follow the movie with a couple of twists thrown in. I'm going to focus on Davy and how she interacts with the others in the next few chapters, giving you something of a prequel. We'll be following her adventures and how she affects the Guardian Universe now that she's there. 
> 
> –Hexalys


	2. The First Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Darkness always had its part to play. Without it, how would we know when we walked in the light? It’s only when its ambitions become too grandiose that it must be opposed, disciplined, sometimes – if necessary – brought down for a time. Then it will rise again, as it must.” –Clive Barker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review!
> 
> Okay guys, second chapter coming at ya. Be forewarned that characters will be speaking in the diction used back in the 1400s and onwards. I really hope this doesn’t annoy anyone too much because it’s kind of fun for me to write like this. Plus I think it gives the story a little more authenticity. Which sounds kind of dumb when I remember that this is about fairytale beings, but whatever. It was also pointed out to me that since it’s the 1400s at this point in the storyline, contractions don’t exist yet. Davy will still use contractions of course from time to time, making her speech stand out a little more in comparison to others.

It was the sudden unmistakable dread and terror of a fellow Spirit that called out to Pitch, that which lured him out of the shadows and onto a ship adrift at sea. Ever since his downfall at the Guardians' hands nearly twenty-one years ago, he had been greatly weakened. He'd lost so many Believers so quickly that it had practically left him staggering and gasping for air.

He now spent his nights slinking from bed to bed, searching for a way to make the children Believe in him again, and struggling to maintain the Believers he still had. The ominous noise of floorboards creaking, an almost inaudible thump coming from the closet or down the hall, of tree branches scratching at bedroom windowpanes, the shadows twisted into horrible monsters creeping along the walls and ceiling. Pitch threw every single trick he knew at them, getting almost no results for his efforts.

Oh, the little ones reacted easily enough, shivering in their beds and too afraid to investigate where the noises were coming from. Pitch could always get them to scream for their parents when he rose from underneath the bed, creating shadow-like claws that reached out to drag the child into the darkness forever. But adults quickly soothed their fears, saying that he was only a bad dream and more often than not the Belief that they’d felt towards him was taken away within moments after being born.

It was a torturous cycle.

It was also much more difficult to affect older children now. Most of the time, they merely slumbered through his scare tactics. Those that did wake up were able to reassure themselves that his attempts were simply caused by the wind. Their reactions, or rather lack thereof, left Pitch with a bitter hollowness in his chest that felt like humiliation and tasted like failure.

Before the Guardians, before his defeat, everyone had feared him, even the adults. He had stood behind them in broad daylight and whispered such irrational fears that the humans had instantly clung too. “ _Witches art in thy village, such vile and horrible creatures; they wilt turn thee in to a toad if thou art not careful.” “Medicine? Lies, that be not healing, tis sorcery. They art trying to steal thine soul.” “There art Demons living in the forest, keep thine children inside and send them to bed early so that they may be safe.”_

Such foolish superstitions, but the humans, no matter their age, had believed him simply because of their fears. It had made Pitch laugh, seeing the humans swarm over themselves like rabid dogs, picking off the weaker ones for simply being different. “ _For surely anything that is different from thee must be inherently evil.”_ Fear had been so abundant then.

And now there was almost nothing left. The Guardians' and their light had chased away his fear and darkness. The world was changing rapidly. Man was now calling what used to be the Dark Ages, a Renaissance of all things. New things, changes, humans used to fear such ideals. Now they welcomed it, embraced it, and went looking for an adventure. It infuriated the Boogeyman to no end.

But then, whilst he was making rounds in a small fishing village just off the coast of Spain, Pitch had sensed it, the delicious fear that came from another Spirit. He hadn't wasted the opportunity, even if the Spirit in question had turned out to be one of the Guardians. It had been too long since he'd tasted such a potent terror from one of his own kind. And he had felt weak for too long. Damn the risks.

It had puzzled Pitch at first, when he arrived on a ship with white sails, and he looked over it with little interest. He had found that sailing to discover new lands was the only good thing to come out of this… Age of Enlightenment. Humans were afraid of the beasts that lurked beneath the deep. Fears of krakens, of angry sea gods, and seducing creatures that led sailors to a watery grave. It was in those superstitions where he could find the most fear nowadays.

Children sailing to the New World were afraid of all these things and more, afraid of the storms that battered into the ship, afraid of the powerful waves that could run them aground, afraid of drowning. Yes, in Pitch's opinion, sailing across the treacherous seas was the best thing to be inspired by this new era.

He carefully crept onto the ship, hiding in the shadows as he observed his surroundings. It appeared normal enough from what he could see. The ship seemed to lack any cannons, but there was always the chance of them being stored below deck. Barrels rested at random intervals, extra rope was stockpiled in areas that might have need of it in case of an emergency, but something still struck him as different. Looking about, a flutter of black caught his eye and he spotted a large dark flag stationed at the top of the mainmast. It had a white skull and a pair of crossbones sewn into the black fabric and he idly wondered what the ominous symbol meant.

As he took a closer look, Pitch realized that the ship seemed strange because it was clean in the most impossible ways. The sails were as white as clouds when they should be stained yellow from the spray of the sea. The decks shone with dark varnished wood, missing the scuffle marks and grime that he'd seen on so many other vessels. The barnacles and salt trails were missing from the lower sides of the boat and the riggings had yet to be covered in rust, instead they glinted sharply in the quarter-moon's light.

The ship looked new, too pristine and too perfect. It only made the Boogeyman suspect that the ship itself was just like him and the Spirit he was hunting, intangible to non-Believers. A gift from the Man in the Moon no doubt, much like his Dark Cave or North's Workshop. Pitch, however, must have let himself become too distracted by his investigations. He felt something heavy drop upon him and he instinctively began to struggle, entangling the thing around him even further.

"All hands on deck, all hands on deck!" A feminine voice from above him shouted, and he cursed as he heard the response to the woman's shouts. Feet stampeded below the deck, vibrating through the wooden boards he was now laying on. Pitch felt the thing, a net he realized with no small amount of disgust, tighten around him as the woman dragged him from the safety of the shadows and out onto the open deck. Damn those wretched Guardians a thousand times over. He could have escaped easily if he’d still had the power he’d possessed some twenty years ago.

Pitch glowered at his captor, seeing that he was now surrounded by a crew that was entirely made up of women. There seemed to be a standard uniform among them, each with different variations. Their britches instantly caught his attention as they seemed to shimmer in the moonlight a little. There were different colors, various blues, greens, reds, purples, and each differently tinted so that none of them were the same. The shimmering material went from their hips down to their shoeless feet, seemingly blending into the skin at their heels and waists, and he realized that the odd material was actually apart of them.

For their shirts, each woman wore an alternated version of a plain white blouse. Some had long sleeves, others were ruffled, a few were cut at different lengths, the hems ending in the middle of the stomach, or opened at the collar, revealing the cusps of their chests. No matter what style, none of these women seemed to share an ounce of modesty as each seemed to exposing their skin one way or another. He felt unseemly just looking at them and adjusted his gaze accordingly by focusing on their faces.

The color of their hair ranged from various shades of blondes to brunettes and redheads. In their tresses, the women had styled themselves with shells of all colors and shapes, taking away even more from the uniformed look and making them stand out as individuals. Not that they needed it as they were mostly from different ethnics. Each woman was good-looking, he supposed, but there was more to it. They exuded an otherworldly glow that made them appear all the more enchanting. Pitch quickly shook off their allure and glared at them warily.

"Tis a man!" One of the women shouted. It didn't sound like she was upset with his presence on their ship, rather the opposite. "Dost thou thinketh the Captain wilt let us keep him?" Pitch wasn't sure whether he should be worried or not at this point.

"Oh, I hope so. I wouldst like to play with him for a time." Another Spirit added and he felt a smidgen of apprehension begin to build in the back of his mind. "How long dost thou think we hath before the Captain arrives?" As the women began to argue about how much time they had and what they wanted to do with him, Pitch caught himself hoping that this mysterious captain would arrive soon.

* * *

Davy woke up with a jolt, her breathing a little strained, as she tried to focus on where she was and not on the nightmare she'd just been having. She slowly sat up on the bed and rubbed at her tired eyes. Mind still in a daze, she let her gaze roam over her bedroom, the captain's cabin.

Manny had already gifted the room with everything she could ever need, but after five years, Davy had added her own things to it. Her bed was just a tad too small to be classified as queen sized, but it was still too big to call it a Double. It was dressed in the same sheets and blankets that Manny had given it, continuing with the color scheme of blues and seafoam green. She had a couple of different sized pillows and a rather unique pink one that was shaped like a starfish.

A small chandelier hung in the middle of the cabin, the candles now partially melted from use. A row of windows took up most of the back wall, looking out over the ocean and providing adequate lighting during the day and on clear moonlit nights. Some candelabras had been strategically placed throughout the decently sized room to give off extra light when needed.

A large mahogany desk resided in front of the windows near the corner of the room, books and maps of the New World spread out on top of it, becoming slightly cluttered by her slowly growing collection of literature. A big wooden globe of the world showing the Lights of Believers was setup a little ways from the desk, resting by a mostly empty bookcase and tucked into the very corner of the room. Davy knew none of those Lights were for her, but she hoped that someday soon that would change.

Then there were her personal effects that she’d added to the cabin. A vanity table with a large mirror had been pushed up against the wall near her bed, the dark colored wood blending in perfectly with the room’s décor. The vanity's draws were filled with impressive jewels and trinkets that Davy had plundered over the years from sunken ships. She'd discovered a few years ago, after a particularly brutal spar with Sandy where he’d thrown her overboard, that she could breathe underwater and could swim as fast as any Mermaid. A knock came from the door, bringing Davy out of her stupor.

“Yes?” She asked, the question sounding more like a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What is it?”

"Captain, thou art needed on deck. Aegean caught an intruder onboard." Undine said from behind the cabin's door.

"Aye, I’ll jus’ be a moment." Davy replied tiredly while shaking her head to wake herself up. She climbed out of bed and went to the vanity, grabbing a brush and quickly running it through her tangled light blue hair. Her eyes trailed over her face, taking in the changes from her rebirth as Davy Jones. Her freckles were still there, but her eyes had changed colors, once where they’d been hazel they were now seafoam green. Her lips had changed too, turning a bright pink color, looking glossy and making them stand out against her tanned skin.

Reaching into the draws, Davy pulled out some jewelry. Four gold bracelets, two placed on each wrist, a pair of jade earrings, a matching jade ring, and finally a gold chained necklace that had a simple pink starfish ornament at the end. She then stepped over to the trunk that rested at the foot of her bed and pulled out a naval captain's coat. It was black with gold buttons that went down the front and up along the sleeves. The trim was white and she'd stitched a small pink starfish onto the lapel, resting just a few inches below her collarbone and over her heart. The coat's length was long, stopping at her calves, with a slit going up the coattail that ended near her upper thighs.

Davy had to roll back the sleeves so that they wouldn't irritate her fins, which turned out to be very sensitive to any form of touch. She stumbled over to put on her boots, minding her leg-fins, adjusted her sword into place, and grabbed her hat before leaving the cabin. As she arrived on the upper deck, Davy saw her crew quickly pull away from something huddled on the floorboards. It was a man, which explained what the commotion was all about, but he was wrapped up in a net, making it difficult for her to see who Aegean had captured.

"Avast ye scallywags, back up and let me see what scurvy codfish be tryin' t' stowaway on me ship." Davy called out harshly, effectively quieting down her crew. They had long since stopped laughing at her pirate brogue, which tended to make her sound pretty intimidating when she wanted it to. She moved closer and blinked in surprise at the Spirit who they’d somehow caught. "Well shiver me timbers, if it ain't Pitch Black."

"Ah, so thou hast heard of me." Pitch drawled, somehow looking not at all bothered by the fact that he was trapped in a net made of enchanted seaweed. "I am sore that I cannot say the same." It took Davy a few seconds to recover, genuinely taken aback at seeing him in person, at the way he talked, but she quickly performed an exaggerated bow, earning a round of chuckles from her crew.

"Beggin' yer pardon Mister Black, the name’s Davy Jones and I be the Cap'n o' this vessel. Now, if I may be askin', what business hath ye bein' on me ship uninvited-like, as it were?" Davy asked with a roguish smile, making no move to free the man just yet.

Ever since meeting Sandy five years ago, Davy had wondered about who she was going to run into next. Meeting Pitch had become a daydream that she’d entertained herself with, each made-up scenario more unbelievable than the last. She'd never imagined meeting him like this, trapped in one of her nets, but it didn't make the fact that she was actually talking to him any less exciting.

"Well then, Davy Jones–"

" _Captain_ Davy Jones." Davy interrupted, while raising a finger that she then proceeded to wag at the Boogeyman. She heard Coral share a giggle with Java and Bering quickly shushed them both, making the captain smile a little at her crews’ antics. "Forgive me horrid manners, Mister Black. Allow me ta introduce ye t' the finest crew ta ever sail the seven seas. Thar be Adriatic, Aegean, Arabian, Baltic, Bering, Black,” She paused to smile. “No relation to ye of course, Caribbean, Caspian, Coral, Flores, Halmahera, Ionian, Java, Kara, Koro, Laptev, Luzon, Mawson, Mediterranean, Molucca, Okhotsk, Persian, Red, Salish, Sibuyan, Timor, Visayan, White, Yellow, and finally me First Mate, Undine." Each of her shipments gave their own greeting, ranging from an excited hello from Coral to a reserved nod from Undine.

"A pleasure, now if thou dost not mind, I wouldst rather like to be free of this net. It smells foul." Coral giggled again before whispering something to Flores that sounded suspiciously like, “ _Tis handsome and humorous_.” The creeping smirk on Pitch's face told Davy that she wasn't only one who heard this.

Davy nodded to her crew, Mawson and Salish stepped forward before the others could, and removed the net. Pitch stood after a moment, his lanky frame finally straightening out, making him the tallest person aboard the Flying Dutchman. He was ridiculously tall in fact, with the top of her head just reaching his shoulders, and she was 5’8”. Manny hadn’t messed with her height or anything, had he? Instead of feeling intimated by him, like she probably should, Davy only felt giddy. A part of her wanted nothing more than to gush about how awesome she thought Pitch was. She restrained herself, if just barely.

"Now then matey, if yer comfortable, how can I be o’ service to ye?" Davy asked cordially, knowing that Pitch couldn't have caused her earlier nightmare. She clearly remembered him admitting in the movie that it had taken him a long time to learn how to change Dream Sand into Nightmares. But his appearance was a bit too coincidental for her liking. Had he sensed her bad dream? The Captain grimaced as she recalled her nightmare. She remembered feeling hopeless, the sound of rushing water, and of someone screaming her name. The nightmare was hazy now. Davy couldn't remember what it was about, only that it had shaken her badly.

"I was attracted to this magnificent vessel by a… scent, a feeling really." Davy felt her breath catch somewhere in her chest as her seafoam green eyes met Pitch's silver-gold irises. She could tell just by looking at the way his gaze studied her intently. He had come to the ship because he'd sensed her fear, her nightmare.

"That doth not excuse yer skulking abound the ship like a bilge rat." Undine retorted harshly and Davy smirked at her First Mate, amused as the woman shot her an accusing frown. Undine had disliked her pirate brogue from the beginning, claiming it made her sound like an uneducated fool. Needless to say she’d found it hilarious when her First Mate had accidentally fallen into a similar speech a year ago. Undine had been mortified. She slipped up every now and then, usually whenever she became tired or angry. It was only a few words here and there, but it made the Captain very pleased with herself all the same.

"Indeed." Pitch agreed amiably as he nodded his head and gave them all a sharp smile. "And had I known this ship wert governed by such fair maidens, I would hath introduced myself properly." Davy held back a smirk as she heard another one of her shipmates titter. Oh she knew what Pitch was doing; he was trying to flatter his way out of this. She had to admit that it was a good tactic too, her crewmates _adored_ men.

"Ah, 'fraid it wert me own doings that led ye aboard me ship." Davy said, pointedly looking away from her gawking crew as she answered Pitch's earlier explanation. "Mayhap we could take this t' me cabin?" She suggested lightly and the girls turned to whisper to each other in excited tones. "More a private matter really."

"I would not wish to intrude–" Pitch began while trying to back away, but the crew of women rushed forward, none too keen to see the male leave their company so soon.

"Oh thou art not, believe me." Red purred as she pushed Pitch forwards and the Boogeyman stumbled, looking caught off guard for a moment. Coral promptly wrapped herself around his left arm, tugging on it playfully to gain his attention.

"It hast been so long since a man wert onboard." She giggled, absentmindedly twirling a locket of her long, curly blonde hair with her fingers.

"Actually, there hast never been a man onboard." Yellow added as she latched onto Pitch's other arm, pressing her shapely body against his, her straight dirty blonde hair swaying against the small of her back.

"And what of the Sandman?" Undine pointed out, she and Davy being the only two women who hadn't swarmed over to Pitch.

"Ooooh, I love Sandy, he is adorable!" Ionian cooed, getting a similar response from the other crew members.

"True, but Sandy is not quite… masculine." Visayan muttered shyly as her cheeks turned a soft pink, almost matching her short strawberry blonde hair in color. "Mister Black on the other hand…" She trailed off there as her blush deepened, making some of the others hum and titter in agreement.

Davy watched Pitch's reactions, from his surprise at being greeted so warmly, to the bold compliments her shipmates was making about his physique. He seemed a bit stunned and unsure of how he should react. Instead of looking anyone in the eyes, he kept his gaze focused either on his feet or on a part of the ship. She chuckled, it was rather endearing to see the Boogeyman so befuddled and out of his element because of a few pretty women.

"Wait, thou knoweth the Sandman?" Pitch asked, finally able to get a handle on the situation now that he had something familiar to focus on. "He hast been here?"

"Aye, first met the little man five years ago shortly after Manny made me Davy Jones. We meet on occasion. He makes his nightly rounds on me ship and I get t' enjoy the company of a friend." She answered, making a few of the women who'd wanted to answer Pitch pout in disappointment. "He be a good listener, as well as a mighty fine sparrin' partner." Now that little tidbit made Pitch's eyebrow-less ridges rise slightly.

Davy turned to her crew, rolling her eyes as she saw the girls staring avidly at Pitch. The few that had managed to cling to him didn't seem ready to let go anytime soon and the others looked on jealously, waiting for a chance to slip in and steal their spots. She sighed and shared a look with Undine. Separating Pitch from the crew so soon would not make them very happy with her. Still, she wanted her shipmates to show at least a little decorum.

"Alright me hearties, let the man go. Ye be needin' t' get ta work anyhow. Sunrise be due in an hour." Davy stated calmly and her crew instantly protested. A chorus of moans and objections answered her in kind. "Belay that!" She shouted loudly, making the entire ship fall silent. Even the Wind stopped pushing the sails, leaving an eerie silence in her wake. The crew stared at her silently. "Now I gave ye an order and yer to follow it without complaint, savvy?"

"Aye aye, Captain." The crew of the Flying Dutchman chorused, sounding professional for the first time all night. They all still managed to squeak in their flirty goodbyes to the Boogeyman, some even reaching out to touch the Spirit before leaving, and promptly jumped overboard.

Pitch leaned over the railing, eyes widening as he saw that the crew of women turned out to be a crew of Mermaids. He recalled the way the material of their britches had gleamed in the moonlight and realized it was because they hadn’t been made of any sort of material at all, they were scales. Stunned by this revelation, he could only stare as Coral waved to him one last time, flipping her dark pink colored flipper once before joining the others underwater.

"Bet ye didn't see that one comin'." Davy said as she smirked at the stunned Spirit.

Pitch instantly regained his composure and straightened himself out as he placed his hands behind his back, looking uninterested as the last Mermaid disappeared from sight. Admittedly, he was handling it a lot better than she had. Davy had gawked at them for a good twenty minutes the first time she'd seen her crew take on their real forms. Sandy hadn't even blinked, he’d just stood there, smiling as the crew of Mermaids cooed over his extreme cuteness.

"Thar be somethin' ye wanted t' say Undine?" Davy asked after a moment before turning towards her First Mate, taking in her rigid posture. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pitch step back quietly, taking refuge in the shadow cast by the mainmast, silently watching the two shipmates interact.

Undine was definitely one of the prettiest women among the crew. Her long dark brown hair had streaks of blonde running through it, making it more natural than Davy's light blue tresses. Her scaled legs were a dark green color and her white shirt had long sleeves that were slit from her wrists to her shoulders. The collar was cut a little deep, but the end of the shirt flowed outwardly, covering her stomach completely. She wore some jewelry, a few silver bracelets on her wrists and a necklace with a seashell attached at the end. Unlike the rest of her crewmates, Undine did not decorate her hair with seashells, but instead she braided it, tying it back with a simple dark green ribbon.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" The First Mate asked, making Davy smile warmly. Maybe it was because of her position, but Undine was the only Mermaid she was close to. Her crew was of course her friends; she depended on them and appreciated their company. But Undine stayed around longer, pulled her into conversations beyond normal greetings or reports, asked how she was. The Captain frowned; maybe it was incorrect to call her crewmates her friends. They were friendly certainly, but they were more like coworkers now that she thought about it. Undine though… she was definitely Davy’s friend.

"Always."

"I dost not think it wise for thee to be left alone with him, Captain." The Mermaid said while sending the Boogeyman a withering look. “Thou knoweth who he is, what he hast done.”

"Aye, that I do.” Davy agreed easily with a small smile on her face as she too looked over at Pitch. Seeing him standing ominously in the darkness, she could understand Undine’s caution. Even though he was no longer the big bad threat he had been years ago, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be dangerous. "Don't ye worry Undine, if Mister Black here wert t' try anythin' untoward, he'd hath done it already." She continued before patting her First Mate on the shoulder. "Now get goin', thar should be a few men out on their fishin' boats by now."

"Aye, Captain." Undine sighed before turning back to glare at Pitch one more time. He gave her an unimpressed look and she dived into the sea, the water instantly changing her scaled legs into a tail with a light green flipper replacing her feet.

"Shalt we?" Davy asked as she turned back to Pitch and gestured towards her cabin. He nodded and followed her into the room, all the while sticking close to the shadows.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, the Captain's quarters proved to be just as pristine as the rest of the ship. Pitch let his eyes roam over the room, taking in the layout and plotting out possible escape routes. Fortunately there were plenty of shadows in the cabin. His eyes landed on the globe and he moved towards it. It was a simple thing compared to his or North's. It only came up to his elbows and was cased in a wooden stand that allowed it to slowly rotate without being disrupted. As he looked over the globe, his eyes lingered on the numerous Lights of Believers. There were a few scattered in the New World, but there were some on the seas as well.

"Can I get ye a drink?" He heard the woman ask from behind him and Pitch turned to see that she'd already shed her coat and set her hat on the back of a chair. “‘Fraid all I've got be rum, though." She added afterwards as she set down two glasses and held up a half empty bottle of alcohol. Pitch barely held back a sneer, knowing that the quickest way to get answers was to humor her. Still, he did not wish to speak with such an illiterate Spirit, nor did he enjoy having to decipher her butchery of the English language. Forcing a smile, he nodded.

"A drink would be pleasant. I thank thee." The Captain nodded and poured him a glass, looking more tired than she had out on the deck moments ago. Pitch took it, studying the amber colored liquid drearily, before looking back at her, watching with hidden disdain as she downed her drink within a few short gulps. She sighed happily and licked her unusually bright pink lips before pouring herself another glass.

"Ah, thar be nothing quite like a shot o' rum t' start the day." The woman said as she leaned against her desk, frowning as if she just realized that she had only one chair in her cabin.

"Thou spoketh earlier that thou wert the cause of my coming here, wilt thee explain?" Pitch asked as he perused her small collection of books. Most were recordings and findings about the New World, but he spotted a few fictional works such as the _Odyssey_ and _Iliad_.

"I had a nightmare." She answered simply and Pitch furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar word.

"A night-mare? What is that?" He questioned and she looked up at him in confusion before understanding suddenly took over her features.

"A nightmare, as they’ll be called in the future, be just another word for bad dreams." She replied before taking a light sip from her glass. Pitch did the same, grimacing somewhat as the harsh liquid burned against the back of his throat.

"Oh, thou can see the future then?" He scoffed slightly, barely holding back an eye roll at the new Spirit’s claim of being a seer. He had no doubt that even that was a power beyond the Man in the Moon.

"Not all of it, no." The woman shrugged; clearly uncaring that he did not believe her.

"Tell me, dost thou hath any Believers yet?" Pitch asked, the sudden shift in subject catching her off guard. The Captain followed his gaze, which was focused on the globe the Moon had given her. She sighed before shaking her head, a sudden deep tiredness burrowing itself into her back, making her shoulders slump a little.

"No, me crew does though. Ye'd be surprised how many young'uns Believe in Mermaids, though I suppose we hath the sailors t' thank for that." Davy said as she took a deeper draft from her glass. Five years and she still didn't have any Believers. She honestly hadn't thought it would bother her as much as it did, she'd never really cared about kids before.

When she'd been alive, she'd never gone out of her way to impress children, but they'd always sought her out, acting as if she was the coolest person in the world. At parks or parties they would flock to her for some reason, each wanting to spend time with her even when she wasn't doing anything interesting. She'd acted like they were a pain when her friends or other adults were nearby, groaning on about how they wouldn't leave her alone. Then, when no one was looking, she'd wink at the kids and chase after them in a game of tag. Their adoration had come naturally. Now though, there was this incessant desire to be seen by the children, for them to Believe in her. Maybe they'd even play pirate with her and join her on grand adventures.

Davy was pretty sure that this desire was a side effect from becoming a Spirit. Or maybe her maternal instincts were finally kicking in.

"Thar wilt always be superstitious men on these waters. I'll hath me own Believers, someday." She didn't look at Pitch as she said this, but out the row of windows, her eyes trailing the moonlight that reflected off of the waves.

Pitch hummed in response, studying the Spirit in front of him whilst she was engrossed with her own thoughts. She was fairly tall for a woman, perhaps around 5'9", but he noticed that her boots also had a bit of height to them, meaning she was most likely 5'8". Her figure was shapely and like the rest of her crew she was striking, though unlike them, she carried no glamour that continuously tugged on his mind. Her beauty and charm, what little there was, were all her own.

He had no doubt that what she said was true; humans had already made up various tales about the sea. It was very likely that the name Davy Jones would be somewhat known in a decade or two. Pitch briefly wondered if she would be as well-known as the Guardians or as himself one day, but he doubted it. Only so many children would be at sea, her numbers in Believers was already limited.

"This bad dream, wert it truly so frightening?" Pitch offered after a moment, ready to leave, feeling that he'd spent enough of his time in the woman's presence. He'd only come to the ship to harvest her terror, which was now gone. It was still early enough for him to return to the village and reap some fear from the children there.

She nodded while staring at nothing, appearing haunted by the memory of her dream. Pitch felt his interest peak as the fear he sensed from before returned, only to a much lesser degree. It was a deep-seated fear though, the kind that turned men into cowards and left children traumatized for years.

"Can't tell ye much about me dream, I barely remember it. I can only say that it filled me with dread." The woman’s shoulders tensed, hands clutching her drink tightly and Pitch took a closer look, trying to determine the cause for her dread.

There were some basics fears on the surface, a waning distress towards spiders and the growing anxiety of never being Believed in. Pitch paused at that, it wasn't an unusual fear. Almost every Spirit experienced it at some point, but it still managed to take him by surprise for some reason. Finally, he came to the terror that she was currently reliving, the one that had been caused by her bad dream. It was a clouting feeling, one he had only ever sensed from those in peril, facing the very real chance of death. As curious as he was, Pitch didn't dig any further than that. His interest in Davy Jones was already starting to wan. He had Believers and a reputation to salvage.

Pitch set his barely touched drink on the desk and nodded at the woman before disappearing into the shadows. Idly pondering over the amount of fear one little bad dream had created. He was so lost in thought, he didn't even hear the Captain's soft farewell.

"See ya round, Pitch." Davy muttered as she watched the man vanish, his mind seemingly preoccupied with something else. "Don't stay away too long."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was harder than I expected. Pitch isn't all that difficult to write, but I was hoping he would have turned out a bit snarkier by the end of this chapter. Oh well, stiff and proper Pitch worked just fine. I liked having him not too sure of himself when he'd been surrounded by Davy's crew, it was adorable. As you can see, Davy already has this weird openness around Pitch. We haven't gotten a broader view on her characteristics yet, but we will during the next couple of chapters. 
> 
> Ye olden time speech is actually turning out to be a pain to write. I can’t wait for the story to progress so that the dialect becomes more modern. Though Davy will still keep a bit of her pirate brogue as I’ve decided to make that one of her weird little quirks. For those curious, I got the Mermaid’s names from a list of seas around the world.
> 
> –Hexalys


	3. Of Painful Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were. –Dwight D. Eisenhower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review!
> 
> NOTICE: Okay, I have to put down a warning for this chapter. There is a detailed death in this chapter and descriptions of drowning. If this is too much too handle, or triggers painful memories, please forgive me now and skip to the next chapter.
> 
> I’ve decided to put some terminology for the olden words I’ve used in this story. Maybe it’ll help clear up whatever confusion you guys might have. You, Your = (Formal Use) Thou/Thee; Thy/Thine, (Informal Use) Ye; Will = Wilt; Shall = Shalt; Have/Has = Hath/Hast; Were = Wert; Are = Art; Does/Did = Dost/Didst; It’s = Tis; It Was = Twas

Since becoming a Spirit, Davy had been unable to touch any child until now.

He was so small, the little boy cradled in her arms, she could feel just how thin he was underneath his soaked, oversized clothes. He was young, maybe ten at the most. He still had some baby fat on his face, and his short brown hair was made up of wet, tangled curls. There was a small gap in his top row of teeth, indicating a recently lost tooth and a mass of brown freckles covered his cheeks.

Davy couldn't enjoy holding this child. She couldn't relish touching a human after seven long years of being invisible to the rest of the world. Instead, it took everything she had to not cry, to hold back the shuddering sobs that wanted to break free from her throat. Davy bit down on her lower lip to keep from yelling, kept her eyes pinched tightly to halt the salty tears that burned under her eyelids.

The lad was dead.

She had found him an hour ago adrift at sea; floating on a plank of wood that looked like it had once been part of a poorly made raft. He'd weakly been struggling against the churning water caused by the roaring storm overhead that had shown no signs of stopping. The boy hadn’t been able to see her or her ship, so Davy could only watch helplessly as the child tried to keep his head above water. She'd dove into the sea to swim next to him, shouting words of encouragement. Remarkably, the lad had seemed to have heard her, or at least sensed that he wasn’t alone.

He'd renewed his efforts and had put everything he had into each kick and stroke, pushing back against the ocean and ignoring the way his body shivered from the cold. Davy had steadied the plank of wood when the current threatened to pull him under and she'd had her body act as a shield against the approaching waves. The Wind helped where it could, battling against the opposing elements and trying to redirect the storm away from the little boy.

It didn't help.

Davy had watched, powerless to aid the lad as he’d tried to swim for land that she knew to be miles away. She witnessed his futile attempts to stay afloat as he fought against the thrashing tide, gasping for air while slowly choking on seawater. His distressed pleas, apologies, and cries for his parents continued to echo in her ears, breaking her heart in a way she'd never thought possible. Davy had tried to take him into her arms, to keep the lad above the water as his strength finally gave out. But her hands had only gone through him, making her scream in a combination of frustration, pain, and horror.

Every time when someone had passed through Jack, Pitch, or Bunny in the movie, they had seemed to be in so much pain and now Davy knew why. It was a new kind of pain, a physical sensation that left her gasping. Thankfully the feeling ended quickly, leaving behind a numbness that made her skin feel dry and too tight. She’d stared through the gaps of her shaking fingers as the lad sank deeper, gritting her teeth against the pain of being insubstantial, and tried again.

Her seventh attempt finally yielded results, but only because the boy’s body had essentially become as lifeless as the plank of wood he'd been drifting on. When Davy had pulled him close, finally noticing the blue tint to his lips, she realized just how cold he must’ve been. She hadn’t realized the water was so frigid. She hardly felt the cold anymore. Even the Arctic Ocean barely affected her.

As soon as they were on the Dutchman’s deck, Davy had laid the lad down to perform CPR. After fifteen fruitless minutes, she stopped, panting heavily as she stared down at the unresponsive child. Something inside her snapped and she’d gathered the boy up in her arms, rocking him back and forth as she whispered apologies he could no longer hear.

After what felt like hours, Davy opened her eyes and studied the little boy's face, trying to remember what color his eyes were. It had been dusk when she’d found him, too dark to make out his eyes, not that she’d been focusing on them at the time. She couldn’t bring herself to peel back an eyelid and find out. It felt too disrespectful, so Davy settled for the memory of dark eyes wide with panic. They must have been brown, she decided, hazel maybe. She felt terrible for not knowing something so simple.

Her gaze drifted to the sky, instinctively seeking out Manny, only to sigh hollowly. Even though the storm had finally calmed, dark clouds blotted out the night sky. There was no sight of the Man in the Moon. It was simply drizzling now, a cold, depressing light rain that left Davy feeling numb instead of refreshed.

"Hmm, I wert not expecting to see another Spirit here." Someone said from behind Davy, surprising her. She turned to see, what she could only describe as the Grim Reaper, scythe and all, standing aboard the Dutchman. "Ah, Nathaniel. I wondered why he wert not in the water when I searched for him."

"Is that his name? Nathaniel?" She croaked in raspy whisper, her throat aching as her gaze dropped back to the boy. "I like that. It sounds like a strong name. His friends probably called him Nathan tho’. Nathaniel be too long t' use all the time." The towering, foreboding Spirit behind her didn't say anything and it was quiet as Nathan steadily grew heavier in her tired arms. "I take it yer the Grim Reaper?"

"I see my appearance was a dead giveaway." He joked and Davy gave him a blank look. The Reaper coughed lightly, obviously realizing that she wasn't in the mood for any sort of humor and approached her slowly, tone turning serious. "I am the Grim Reaper, tis my duty to ferry lost souls."

"Yer goin' t' take Nathan t' heaven now." She said firmly, not even allowing the thoughts of such an innocent child going somewhere else to enter her mind. She’d fight Death off if that was the case.

"Humans and their ridiculous religions.” He huffed. “Nay, none go to heaven, because there is no heaven, nor hell. They art simply reborn. I find lost or resistant souls and send them to a realm where they rest until they art sorted by the Man in the Moon to their next lives." The Grim Reaper explained and Davy nodded, somewhat familiar with how reincarnation worked.

He stopped a foot away from her and gently touched the end of his scythe against Nathan's chest, on the area over his heart. A bright white orb rose up and circled around them once before flying off towards the sky. The dark clouds seemed to part for a brief second and she saw the Moon hanging in the distance, before Nathan's soul disappeared as the clouds shifted back.

Davy slowly stood, gently placing Nathan on the deck before turning to the Grim Reaper only to find him staring at her, or at least she thought he was staring. She couldn't really tell since his hood completely covered his face in shadows. He was ridiculously tall, cutting a very impressive figure. He looked like how the stereotypes depicted him as; cloaked in a long black robe and a holding a menacing scythe. Her gaze dropped to his hands, the only part of him that was visible, and found that he had no skin, they were skeletal, just bits of off-white bone and cartilage. She looked away before she could be caught staring.

"We hath not been properly introduced yet. My name is Grimmons, more commonly known as Death or the Grim Reaper among humans." He said politely and Davy managed a weak smile, wondering if she should offer a handshake or not.

"Captain Davy Jones, at yer service." She took off her hat and gave a slight bow, smile becoming a bit more genuine at meeting another Spirit. "No offense matey, but I always thought that Death would be a bit more… grim." She couldn't see it, but Davy was pretty sure that Grimmons was full out smiling at her now.

"Oh, I think I like thee." He responded heartily. "Yet I hath no memory of thou." That quickly wiped away the smile from her face as a budding feeling of apprehension took root in her mind. "As the caretaker for souls that dost not move on, I bear witness the birth of every Spirit. And I definitely dost not remember thee."

"Aye, I weren’t made in the traditional sense." Davy muttered while looking away from Death, only for her seafoam green eyes to land on Nathan's body. A deadening ache returned, making her breath catch in the back of her throat as her chest tightened painfully. She would bring the lad to shore, somewhere near civilization so that he could get a proper burial. Davy heaved a shaky sigh, feeling unbelievable drained in that moment.

"Well that answer just makes me even more curious, but I can see that now is not the time. I shalt return in a day or two." Grimmons said as he stepped back into the shadows. "Fare thee well, Captain." Then he disappeared into the shadows, much like Pitch had two years ago after their meeting.

Davy exhaled heavily, the sound coming out hoarse and much too close to a sob for her liking. The Wind brushed the side of her face, comforting her a little with its' warm front. And she suddenly wished that this warmth had been the last thing Nathan had felt, not the iciness of the sea or the darkness that followed. She bent down and picked up Nathan’s stiffening body, holding him close, but not allowing her eyes to drift down to the child that she'd failed to save.

"Land, Wind, bring us t' port."

* * *

Grimmons returned as promised. It was two days later when he stepped back onto her ship, and needless to say his arrival caused quite a stir. Davy hadn’t yet told her crew about Nathan or her encounter with Death. She hastily made up a story about running into the Grim Reaper the day before and inviting him aboard the Dutchman.

When the initial shock passed, Undine was not pleased with her and the crew was lacking their usually peppy demeanor. Even though Grimmons was clearly a man, the Mermaids avoided him like he had the plague. It was odd, but Davy didn't stop her shipmates as they basically fled into the sea. Only Undine had given him a short greeting before directing a nasty glare at her and joining the others. Like with Pitch, Davy brought him into her cabin and offered a drink of rum, but unlike Pitch, Grimmons turned her down.

Davy had used the past two days to think about what she'd planned to tell Grimmons. She'd had an entire story mapped out in her head about being born from Manny's own powers. A new Spirit created not from the dead, but from the seas itself. But when she'd looked up at him and saw Grimmons’ dark figure standing so serenely in her quarters, she’d found herself unable to lie to him.

So she told him everything, about who she used to be and where she was really from, but excluded mentioning the Rise of The Guardians movie or the books it was based off of. Grimmons had silently and attentively listened to every word, never once interrupting her. When she'd finished, Davy felt an unknown weight on her shoulders lighten, startling her. Maybe talking about your problems with someone else really did help. She hadn't even realized that keeping her past a secret had been much of a burden until that moment.

Grimmons, thank Manny, had taken it all in stride, not focusing on how she was different or the world she came from, but instead explained how things worked in this world. He told her of the first generation of Spirits, made up of himself, Mother Nature, and Father Time. He then informed her of the Spirits she hadn't known about, which she was just a little surprised to learn were real. In the movie, only the Leprechaun and the Groundhog had been mentioned, but fans had speculated that there had to be more. A total of twelve Spirits had come before her.

Long after the first generation had been created, Pitch had been the next Spirit made by the Man in the Moon, shortly followed by Sandy. A couple hundred years after them came the Muse, a woman who inspired humans in different subjects. Centuries later North was chosen, and then Tooth some decades after him. Cupid, who actually turned out to be a woman, was made next, followed by the Easter Bunny, and then the Leprechaun. The last Spirit to be created before Davy was Will-o’-the-Wisp, who was her senior by about two hundred years.

After that, Grimmons began to tell her stories about the many things he'd seen during his existence. Davy had honestly never met anyone like him in her past life. He had a dry sense of humor and way too many groan inducing puns, but she found him to be great company. Once he left to go back to work, she invited him to come back whenever he liked, which clearly startled him at first, but he quickly agreed and thanked her before leaving.

Hours later, Davy stood alone at the helm of the Flying Dutchman, flying over what would one day become the United States of America. There was a thick cover of clouds blocking the moon tonight, for which she was grateful. She couldn't bear to face Manny after what happened to Nathan. She'd avoided him for the last few days by chasing the sun, too afraid of what his reaction towards her might be.

What if Manny was disappointed in her? Well, she really couldn't blame him if that was the case. Davy was disappointed in herself, but there was more to it as a foreign, bitter sensation of self-hatred had started to take shape in her head. A dark thought kept taking over her thoughts, a simple fact that gave her mind no peace. ‘ _Any other Spirit could have saved Nathan._ '

Davy felt like a failure and it wasn't a sentiment that she was familiar with.

She'd always lived a rather simple life. There were no real expectations from her that were beyond the norm of what others had experienced. Be good, try your best, get good grades, be responsible, get a job, start a family. She had always managed to succeed where it mattered. Yet here as Davy Jones, she obviously wasn’t good enough. The first child she'd met in her seven years as a Spirit and she couldn't even save him. She definitely wasn't what Manny had in mind when he'd charged her with keeping the children safe.

As if hearing her thoughts, moonlight broke through the clouds and Davy stumbled back into the shadows as soon as she felt Manny's warm presence. From the shade she saw the light grow stronger and she knew that he was trying to coax her back into the open, but she didn't dare move. The thread of fear in the back of her mind grew and spread like a spider's web, entangling any other thoughts and keeping her frozen in place.

Davy wasn't sure how long she waited until Manny's presence left her ship, she just knew it was long enough to make her back feel stiff. She slumped against a wooden railing; the ship’s gentle rocking calming her down as the Wind ruffled her hair playfully. She abruptly wished for company, for Undine and her crew, for Grimmons who now knew more about her than anyone else. The crew would cheer her up. Grimmons would share more stories. And then she wouldn’t have to think about Nathan or Manny’s disappointment.

Her thoughts turned to her family, and she felt unbearably homesick. Davy longed for the warmth they’d provided, for the comfort their hugs had once given her. She hadn't thought about her mother and father in years, even before becoming a Spirit. At eighteen years old she had packed her bags and moved to the city, using the inheritance from her grandmother to pay for a flat in New York. There'd been so much bad blood between her and her parents. They’d been realistic people, a father who worked in retailing and a mother for a lawyer. Neither had approved of their only daughter's dream of becoming an artist. Davy had left to prove them wrong. If only she could say that she had.

While she'd managed to get a job soon after arriving in New York, she hadn’t been very successful in selling her artwork. Eventually she'd had to take a second job to pay for her schooling and her own personal projects had been pushed aside as she struggled to make ends meet. At twenty-six and with a Bachelor's Degree, her life had finally started to look up. And then… well she wasn't sure what happened next. She wasn't sure how she died or how she came to be in the Guardians' Universe. She only knew that her dreams of becoming a great artist were just that.

A stream of golden sand circled around Davy and she let out a bitter chuckle, finding it ironic that Sandy would show up after she'd realizing that her dreams would never come true. Sandy hovered nearby on a cloud of Dream Sand, creating a parrot on his shoulder along with his default pirate hat. The ridiculously large feather on his cap wilted as he caught sight of the look on her face.

"Huh, I'm certainly very popular tonight." Davy muttered to herself before forcing a smile on her face that Sandy wasn't buying for a second. She peaked over the railing and saw that it was in fact dawn. That explained why Manny had left then. A question mark appeared above his head and she sighed. "It be nothin' Sandy. The Grim Reaper jus’ paid me a little visit earlier, that’s all."

Sand exploded over his head, the images shifting from an exclamation mark to drawn out scenes moving so quickly that she couldn't even begin to guess what he was asking. Despite herself Davy chuckled, feeling a little less lonely at witnessing the little man's obvious concern for her wellbeing. She should count herself lucky that he considered her to be such a dear friend.

Eventually Sandy wore himself out, panting silently as he looked at her with wide golden eyes. The open display of worry on his face jerked at her heart and Davy quickly found it hard to swallow. She shook her head and moved past him to grab the steering wheel, trying to ground herself and to keep her mind from wandering into bad memories. She didn't want to think about Nathan.

Her earlier fear that had fled when she'd remembered her parents returned and Davy gripped the wooden pegs so hard, she felt her hands cramp in response. What would Sandy think of her if he found out she'd been unable to save Nathaniel? She couldn't bear the idea of disappointing him too, to see such emotions reflecting off of his face that could be so painfully expressive.

Davy felt a yanking on the hem of her shirt and she thought it was the Wind at first, but the pulling became fiercer and even more insistent. She looked down and saw Sandy gazing up at her; he'd abandoned his cloud of Dream Sand to stand beside her. He was so short. He couldn't be much taller than three feet. Really, it was absurd at how small Sandy was. Small like a child. Small like Nathan had been.

Standing there, with those little hands still tugging on her shirt, Davy felt something inside of her give.

"Thar… thar was a lad adrift at sea and I couldn't touch'em Sandy. I couldn't–" Something thick caught the words in her throat leaving her unable to continue, to explain why she hadn't been able to save one little boy. She closed her eyes and angrily stomped her foot on the deck, physically trying to shove back the roiling emotions that were pushing hard against the dam.

She felt a small hand on her shoulder and she looked over to see Sandy's sad, but understanding face. It was his kind and warm golden eyes that finally undid her. Davy reached for him and Sandy spread his stubby arms as far as they could go, inviting her to grieve and offering support. She collapsed to her knees, bringing him down with her, whispering desperate apologies to Nathan, to the Moon, to her parents, and Sandy squeezed her tightly in return.

Davy broke down for the first time in years and cried for a lot of reasons.

* * *

" _Please help me, someone, anyone!" Nathan cried out before sputtering as a wave crashed into his face. He choked and coughed on the briny water, tears streaming down his face as he frantically tried to stay above the water. "Mama, papa! Help!"_

" _I'm tryin' Nathan. God help me lad, I'm tryin'!" Davy yelled back, her hands stinging from how many times she'd tried to grab the boy, only to end up passing through him. She rubbed at them, hoping to make the pain go away, but it continued to linger. As Nathan’s head disappeared under the tide again, Davy felt something inside her break and she desperately looked to the cloudy sky for help._ " _Manny, I can't save him!"_

_She knew it already. There was nothing she could do for the lad at this point, no attempt that would bring him to safety. This horror of simply watching ate at her insides, leaving her raw and in pain that was much worse than when she phased through Nathan._

_Where was her crew? Where was Sandy or any of the other Guardians? Hell, even Pitch could probably save him! So why was she the only one there to help Nathan, to witness this terrible thing that she couldn't change? He couldn't see her. She couldn't touch him. The lad didn't Believe in Davy Jones, nobody did!_

_Manny's warm light suddenly shone down on them and Davy smiled in relief because he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Nathan. But then the light suddenly burned and she felt her chest ache in response. Davy looked down in shock as a little white orb flew out of her chest. It bobbed in front of her face only once before shooting up towards Manny._

_She desperately reached out for it, knowing that it was vital and that it had once belonged to her. She looked down at herself, finding her clothes had changed into a familiar uniform. Davy nearly stopped breathing as she spotted her finless arms. She frantically brought a strand of hair up to her face and a choked noise escaped her throat when she saw that it was blonde. She was Davie Elson again._

_A large wave abruptly pushed her under and she shot back up quickly, fear gipping at her heart as she desperately tried to stay above the cold water whose undertow was suddenly too strong for her to handle. There was someone screaming her name in the distance, but she could hardly hear it over the rushing water and the deafening wind. Davie was pulled under again and she panicked, unsure of which way was up or down. She pushed herself in a random direction, praying she was right, and gasped greedily as she broke the surface._

" _Manny, help me! I can't–" She was cut off as she felt something tug on her legs. It was if the water had grown hands and was trying to drag her into its depths, to drown her like it had Nathan. Davie felt her terror increase as she swung her arms frantically, reaching for something solid to grab onto. "Manny, please!"_

" ** _You failed. You do not deserve to be Davy Jones._** _" He responded at last and Davie tried to protest, to explain how hard she'd tried to save Nathan. All she managed to do was inhale more water, gagging as her lungs burned from the lack of air. " **You were a mistake.** "_

_She shook her head, inwardly pleading for another chance. But Manny did nothing to help and the water pulled her under and Davie knew she wasn't coming back up this time._

Davy awoke with a muffled cry, trying as best as she could to right herself and take in as much air as possible. She could feel it, the terrible sensation of water sliding down her throat and filling her lungs. Her dread continued to grow. She was drowning, and dying, and Manny took it back–

"Oh my, that dream truly rattled thee." Davy’s head shot up, her breathing wild and frantic, only to see a dark figure standing a few feet away from her. Terrified, she quickly reared back, grabbing her nearby cutlass, and swung out at it.

* * *

Pitch barely avoided being hit, his silver-gold eyes widening as he saw the woman's form tremble on her bed, her chest rapidly expanding and contracting, as if she couldn’t breathe. He'd sensed the Captain’s fear from his Dark Cave only moments ago and had traveled to her ship through the shadows. He'd made sure to land directly in her cabin this time, completely avoiding the possibility of running into the crew of hands-y Mermaids.

He had arrived to see the woman tossing in her bed. There'd been no Dream Sand over her head, for surely if there was she would not have had a bad dream to begin with. The fear that she'd projected had almost made him silently groan in pleasure. The decline in his Believers fell by a handful every day. Pitch could not scare every child in one night to keep their Beliefs in him alive. He did not have a holiday to instill credence like North, nor could he visit hundreds of children every night like Sanderson could through dreams.

His own limited abilities were working against him and Pitch knew that he had to do something different soon if he was going to keep up with the Guardians. It did not help the situation that he now had to be discreet to avoid detection from both Sanderson and Toothiana's irksome Fairies. Those wretched things seemed to be multiplying every hour, Pitch was sure of it, and he was much too weak to risk running into the Guardians again.

It was because of this overwhelming loss of Believers that drove Pitch to visit Davy Jones.

The woman's fear, her abundant horror and dread, was like a succulent meal to him after feeling half-starved for so long. Her fear was a beacon drawing him in, like a moth to a flame. Pitch had been hard-pressed to resist the temptation, not that there was much to deter him from taking advantage of her delectable fear. The only Guardian the Captain had come into contact with so far was Sanderson, and Pitch habitually checked from the shadows to make sure that the Sandman was nowhere in sight wherever he went.

He watched warily as the woman's glassy eyes cleared and a look of comprehension dawned on her face as she finally shook off the effects of her bad dream. She took a deep breath, the fear dwindling now that she had calmed herself down, and gave him a weak grin that looked more like a grimace.

"Uh, sorry ‘bout that Pitch, didn't mean t' take a swipe at ye." She offered, before sliding a hand down her face and pausing to rub at her tired eyes. She looked like humans do when they forego sleep, which was odd since Spirits did not require slumber unless they’d been gravely wounded and needed to recover their strength. Sleep was a choice, not a necessity.

The Captain’s words however, broke through to Pitch after a moment and he could only blink in confusion. That was not the usual reaction he got when someone found him in their bedroom. There was usually a lot more screaming, but then again this was his first time being in the bedchamber of another Spirit. Still, he was absolutely certain she was not supposed to greet him with an apology. There was something truly peculiar about this woman.

"Another night-mare my dear Captain?" Pitch mocked while looking down at his nails, making sure he could still see her expressions from the corner of his eyes. Her face fell for a second, her seafoam green eyes landing on the floor, before she huffed and stood up. Pitch moved back into the shadows ever so slightly, ready to leave should things elevate, but the woman merely walked past him and over to her desk where she pulled out another bottle and two glasses. "I think we hath done this before. Is this not the part where thou blathers on about how awful things art for thee?" She either didn't hear him or had simply decided to ignore the derision in his tone. Pitch scoffed, irritated that she failed to show any reaction to his insults.

The Captain merely poured the amber colored liquid into both glasses and sat at a table that certainly hadn't been in her cabin during his first visit. She nodded to the extra chair, the second glass sitting in front of it invitingly, and raised a light blue eyebrow. Pitch bit back a growl. He was starting to dislike this woman.

"Dost thou hath Believers yet?" He asked idly as he sat down, not missing the way his question had hit its mark. Her posture tensed immediately and she briefly closed her eyes, exhaling a sharp breath that rang throughout the quiet room. Pitch inwardly smirked, taking the reaction as an undesirable admission. He turned his attention away from the woman, wanting to let his taunt settle in her mind for a bit, and took a closer look at her new furnishings.

The chair, and Pitch was hesitant to call it that, was surprising very comfortable. In truth it looked more like a throne in his opinion. The tall dark wooden frame was decorated with exquisite carvings of various seashells. The fabric of the seat was soft like velvet, but dyed a dark grey color that he rather liked. The Captain's chair was almost exactly the same with one exception; the fabric was a dark blue instead. The color suited her.

The small round table was solely unremarkable at first glance. There were scratches and chips on the surface which ruined its’ dark finish. But as he continued his examinations, Pitch saw the figures of ships and waves fashioned along the tables' border and up the main stand. The carvings were so detailed that he had no doubt that the craftsman had spent most of their life working on this table, acting as a lasting tribute to their superior skill and talent.

"Unfortunately, no, I can't say that I do." The Captain said lowly, needlessly answering his rhetoric question and breaking Pitch out of his observations. "How 'bout yerself, Mr. Black? I hear tell that ye've seen better days." She continued and he felt his eyes narrow at her cheekiness. Pitch moved to lash out, an acidic comment already resting on the tip of his tongue, but he paused instead to reexamine her words.

They'd been offensive, purposefully said to get a rise out of him. It was an exact opposite to how the Captain had approached him two years ago when she'd been nothing, but inviting and courteous. Her tone was different too. There was a sharpness to it that hadn't existed last time. Pitch took in the way she held herself, all tense and rigid, her eyes focused on the glass in front of her which had remained untouched.

The woman was on her guard. He smiled at that revelation, enjoying the way she stiffened even further and how her left hand grasped the arm of her chair. Her sudden defensiveness was new, but not unwelcomed. It seemed that others, whoever they may be, had finally informed her not to take the Boogeyman lightly.

"I am doing quite well, as thou canst see. The Guardians think they hath weakened me, but..." His eyes gleamed as he flashed her a pointed smile. "The ocean can be such a terrifying force after all. With every shipwreck and life lost at sea, the fears of these dark waters grow with each new day." Pitch smirked into his drink, feeling as if he finally won something after the past seventeen years of destitute. The Captain sent him a dark glare and it just made him feel all the more gratified.

But then woman's glare faltered after a moment and her eyes drifted downwards.

Abruptly, a wretched weariness seemed to consume the Captain's persona, tearing down an invisible wall that he hadn't even realized existed, exposing her true feelings. There was a pain in her eyes, so brittle and piercing that Pitch felt his good mood instantly fade. She looked back up at him helplessly, a vile feebleness dominating her once proud nature. His mild barb had struck deeper than he intended, digging into her strong front and crippling it within moments.

Pitch found his mouth suddenly uncomfortably dry and he sipped at his drink, hoping to cure the unsettling pit that had formed near his stomach. He reached into her mind to see the cause of her reaction and drew back instantly as he felt despair mangled in deeply with her fear. He had still seen some images though, flashes of her dream and memories. He felt her fear towards the Man in the Moon's possible disappointment.

And saw a child drowned at sea.

Despite what others believed, Pitch did not gain any joy from seeing children suffer and he most certainly did not relish in their deaths. True, he did not dote on the young ones like the Guardians did, or even enjoy a child's happiness, but that was simply because if they were happy, then they were not afraid. Pitch knew his power, his entire existence, depended on the children and their Belief. In an obscured sense, he saw them as a part of who he was. So why would he take any delight in losing those small bits of himself?

"I can't do this Pitch, not today." He stared at the woman for a moment, a small amount of pity unexpectedly rising within him at her soft words.

She looked so broken at that moment and Pitch knew he could take advantage of her then. He could figuratively dig at her bleeding wounds; pour salt in them with whispers of hatred and acrimony. He could tell her that all her fears were genuine, his finely placed lies acting as a terrible poison that would slowly drain her of any loyalty and hope. He could turn her against the Man in the Moon, against Sanderson and the Guardians. He could make her his pawn.

But instead he simply nodded, leaving the weary Captain to drink her problems away in solitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was more than a little sad. I felt it best to have something tragic at the beginning, if only to show the range of emotions that Davy can go through and how she shows them. It was really hard writing out her reactions, I tried to keep her looking strong, without making her seem frigid or too weepy. I mean, you have to remember that these guys have been around for centuries. Chances are they've seen some pretty messed up stuff, so kids dying seemed like a very real possibility to me. That's not even mentioning all the child abuse, illnesses, and other problems they could’ve seen, but had been unable to do anything about.
> 
> On a side note, Grimmons was featured here, who is an OC of mine. Though I think almost everyone has mentioned the Grim Reaper in their stories by now, so I couldn't resist adding him. I also gave a shout out to Muse, Will-o’-the-Wisp, and Cupid. You don't have to worry about overwhelming OCs if you're not a fan. Their scenes will be sparing until the movie’s plot ends.
> 
> –Hexalys


	4. Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People trust their eyes above all else– but most people see what they wish to see, or what they believe they should see; not what is really there.” –Zoë Marriott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review!
> 
> You, Your = (Formal Use) Thou/Thee; Thy/Thine, (Informal Use) Ye; Will = Wilt; Shall = Shalt; Have/Has = Hath/Hast; Were = Wert; Are = Art; Does/Did = Dost/Didst; It’s = Tis; It Was = Twas

Davy was in Egypt, more specifically she was currently sailing down the Nile. She’d entered the famous river from the Mediterranean Sea and decided to have a change of scenery. It wasn’t like she didn’t love her wide open waters. Davy had always loved the sea. It was just that today, she felt like soaking in the sun and seeing the sights.

It had been about a week since she saw Pitch and even longer since she’d last been in Manny’s presence. She knew at this point, after having a while to think about things, that there was no way that Manny was upset with her, but Davy just couldn’t seem to shake her irrational fears. She hadn’t slept much since her last confrontation with Pitch, not wanting to have any more nightmares, which she was certain, would happen again.

True, she’d likely see the Boogeyman again if she did have another bad dream, but she didn’t want him seeing her like this. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. She’d even taken to avoiding her crew. Undine suspected something, no doubt. But while Davy could go a few days without sleep, a week was pushing it, even with the brief reluctant naps she’d been unable to avoid. Thank Manny the Wind was there to wake her up.

Davy tried not to think about things, about Nathan, the Man in the Moon, and Pitch, but escaping her thoughts was much harder than evading her crew. The idea of needing to take a break, a vacation, was what led her to Egypt. The heat was in the high nineties so she had abandoned her vest, boots, hat, jewelry, and rolled her pant legs up to her knees. She had managed to get her hair up into a messy bun and her white shirt was open a little more than normal, but then again Davy really didn’t have to worry about modesty. Being invisible had its perks sometimes.  

She’d been lying out on the deck, idly wishing she had a hammock, when something had caught her attention on the land some feet away from her ship. It was a woman, perhaps the most beautiful woman Davy had ever seen, and that was saying something considering her crew consisted of the most stunning creatures ever created by the Moon.

The beautiful woman had golden brown hair that seemed to shine different shades in the sunlight. There was a golden band resting on her head, almost looking like a tiara and decorated with water lilies. Her skin was a soft cream color which was an unusual skin tone in this part of the world. Davy wasn’t close enough to see all of the woman’s face clearly, but she could safely assume that her facial features were pretty as well.

She wore a simple white dress that clung to her shapely body, with thin cords of gold wrapped around her slim waist in a haphazard manner that only made her simple clothes look all the more elegant. The dress went a little past her knees, leaving the white fabric to billow around her legs softy. Oddly enough, Davy saw that the woman wasn’t wearing any shoes.

She stood on the bank of the river near a small child, who looked as if they’d only just learned how to walk if the unsteady steps and tiny stature was anything to go by. The child had black hair that barely reached their shoulders and their skin was the dark tone that was expected of an Egyptian. A group of people were gathered further back, taking shelter under the palm trees and tarps, not noticing that two members of their party had strayed away by a good distance.

Davy, for some reason, watched the scene unfold with an unsettling feeling in her stomach. The scales on her body seemed to stand on end as some weird version of goosebumps and the itch to move made her stand and approach the railing. She couldn’t explain where this sense of something amiss had come from, there was really nothing all that suspicious with the woman, but there was a niggling in the back of her mind, one that was too powerful for her to brush aside as paranoia.

There was something terribly wrong.

The woman stepped into the water, her front facing the child as she made hand motions for the young one to come to her. As the child toddled closer, Davy’s feelings of wrongness intensified, urging her to keep the child away from the woman. It was too overwhelming for her to fight. Davy dove into the river without a second thought and quickly swam towards the two, frantically thinking about what she would do once she reached them. It’s not like she could carry the toddler away to safety.

Just when she was within twenty feet of the woman, the child reached the edge of the riverbank, their small arms reaching outwards to be picked up. A breathtaking sense of horror gripped her chest as Davy saw the water rise up unnaturally, twisting and curling like jagged fingers before wrapping itself around the child’s ankles. The toddler’s small and pudgy face was just beginning to show signs of fear when Davy reacted.

“Wind, knock’em back!” She shouted and the Wind responded instantly. A powerful gale pushed into the child, lifting them up and away from the water’s grasp. They landed safely several feet away in the sand, crying almost immediately and attracting the attention of the adults. A woman, who looked a lot like the child, ran forwards and pulled the toddler into a soft embrace, muttering in a soothing tone as they headed back towards the others. She didn’t even send a glance at Davy, nor towards the beautiful woman for that matter.

“Well now, that wert not nice.” The woman stated as she turned around slowly, her beautiful face shifting into an ugly sneer, and Davy saw that her eyes were black. “Thou just lost my dinner.” The Captain felt horror and disgust curl in her stomach as what the woman said clicked into place. She saw no lie in the woman’s claim; her malevolent face was proof enough.

This thing had planned to eat that child.

“Who art ye, wench?” Davy asked while glaring darkly at the woman as she placed a hand on the hilt of her cutlass. “Speak quickly before I gut ye like a fish.”

“I am Molpe.” The woman answered, her face morphing into something serene looking. “And since thou hast caused me to lose my meal, I wilt just hath to eat thee in the child’s stead.” She smiled, but her teeth suddenly turned jagged and pointed, instantly reminding Davy of a shark. As if Molpe had given a silent command, the water suddenly rose up around Davy, wrapping itself around her waist and pulling her under its surface.

Her nightmare came back to her and she burst into a fierce struggle, thrashing wildly at the invisible hooks that pulled her in deeper. After a moment, her mind caught up with her, and her initial panic faded as Davy forced herself to calm down and focus on her breathing. Manny had not taken away her abilities like in her dream. She was as much at home in the water as she was on land.

“Oh, this wilt not do, not at all.” Davy turned and spotted Molpe floating a few feet away from her, sitting on nothing and yet somehow managing to hold still, only her hair and the ends of her dress seemed to move with the river’s current. “I was hoping to simply drown thee and be done with it.” At those words, something cold and icy gripped at the Captain’s insides.

“Ye were goin’ t’ down that child?” The Captain demanded, her furious eyes locking onto Molpe’s smirk.

“Indeed, tis how I kill all my meals.” The smug look on the woman’s face disappeared as she barely dodged Davy’s sword. Molpe gave a wordless snarl, but reared back slightly at the dark glower that Davy was making. It was deadly, vicious, but controlled, if only just, and she recognized the Spirit’s temper for what it was, the calm before the storm.

“The waters be mine, wench! I will not have ye force them t’ take another life evar again.” The Captain growled angrily as a wave of foreign rage consumed her in a way that she’d never experienced before. It wasn’t until that moment that Davy realized what it meant to be truly furious.

Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Nathan and to what Pitch had said during his last visit. “ _The oceans can be such a terrifying force after all. With every shipwreck and life lost at sea, the fears of these dark waters grow with each new dawn.”_ As much as she loved the sea, Davy knew how dangerous it could be. That’s why Manny had made her. But she didn’t want people to afraid of the oceans or to fear her.

And here Molpe was using water, her water, to kill children? It was unacceptable.

Davy had never considered herself a bad person, not that she ever viewed herself as an angel either. She’d been average when it came to morals. She’d helped others from time to time and had acted selfishly at other points. She’d stolen before, but donated to charity as well. She’d been mean to others more than a few times, but forgiving and kind when it counted. Now though, she knew, she had to put an end to this other being. Molpe was a murderer, a monster who ate people, children! There was no one in the world who would say she deserved anything other than death. Still, there was a part of Davy cringed at the very idea of killing someone. It was a chilling notion that she’d never thought herself capable of. She didn’t want to kill anyone and she doubted she could actually do it.

“Thine waters?! I have ruled the oceans, lakes, ponds, and rivers for centuries! The water listens to my voice, it belongs to me!” Molpe screeched, her nails growing and turning into thick, long, black claws. “Who dost thee think thou art?” The enraged creature lunged at her and Davy met her head on.

“I be Davy Jones, Captain o’ the Flyin’ Dutchman, and guardian o’ the seas! Chosen by the Man in the Moon to protect all who pass through me seas.” She shouted while blocking Molpe’s claws with her sword. “And I wilt not allow ye t’ misuse my waters anymore!” She growled and Molpe hissed wordlessly in retaliation, her face morphing into something monstrous looking for a split second.

“I wilt kill thee!” The woman screamed. “I wilt break thee open and devour thy very bones!” Davy rose up her sword to block as Molpe lashed out at her again, but the water suddenly felt too thick and her arms weren’t moving fast enough. She grunted in pain as she felt the claws catch into her side, continuing across the length of her stomach in an upwards arch.

The force of the blow flung Davy backwards and towards the surface. She swam upwards and spotted the Flying Dutchman not even a yard away, sailing towards her all on its own. She felt the Wind push her forwards as best as it could, helping her move through the resisting water and towards her ship. She gritted her teeth in pain as the motion made her cuts bleed even more, but bared against the pain just the same. She didn’t need to look behind her to know Molpe was giving chase.

A rope swung down from the ship and she quickly grabbed it. Davy didn’t know if she’d be able to climb up with her wounds, but the Wind was able to solve that little problem. It swung her around the stern of the ship and she felt the rope tug her upwards, as the Dutchman itself reeled her in, working in tandem with the Wind. Davy landed hard, sprawled across the lower deck, and breathing heavily from the strain of her injuries. As much as she would like to go to sleep right then and there, fear of what Molpe might be doing made her move. She managed to drag herself up onto her feet, before taking unsteady steps to look over the starboard bow. Davy’s half-lidded gaze meet Molpe’s glare as the ship took to the air, leaving the wretched woman unable to climb aboard.

“I wilt kill thou, Davy Jones!” She screeched and Davy found herself smirking back, adrenaline racing through her blood like a drug she hadn’t had in years.

“That’s Captain, ya scurvy sea-witch!” She shouted back, an hysterical chuckle highlighting her words. “And I’ll be looking forward t’ the rematch. I cannot wait t’ string ye up like the pile o’ bilge that ya are!” Whatever replies Molpe had made after that were lost on Davy, who had already collapsed against the railing and slowly slid towards the deck as her vision began to grow dark. “Undine, take me t’ Undine.” She wasn’t exactly sure whom she was talking to at that point, the Wind or the Dutchman, but she trusted both of them to get her to her First Mate.

* * *

Pitch was not entirely surprised to feel the fear of the Captain again so soon after his last visit, but he was surprised by the amount that he sensed. This, by far, was the most fearful he’d ever felt from the woman. And it was too salivating to pass up. He moved through the shadows to her cabin, finding her still in sleep and muttering unintelligible things under her breath. He stayed hidden, drawing in and feasting on the fear that she unwittingly provided. After some minutes, her mutters turned into frantic shouts.

He watched her every twist and frantic gasp, fascinated by how much fear one bad dream caused. He’d never really focused on that aspect of sleep, preferring to wake children in the night and to use the darkness to enhance his presence and increase their fear. After all, how could they be afraid of him if they were asleep? Oh, if only children could have bad dreams like the Captain did.

An idea struck Pitch then, one that was both likely impossibly, but too terribly satisfying to not consider. If he could somehow get his hands on Sandy’s Dream Sand, would it be possible for him to corrupt it? Could his fear filled touch possess the Sand, change good dreams into bad ones? He stared down at his hands curiously.

Pitch was fear. None of the Guardians had ever understood that statement. He didn’t just create it in children by manipulating his environment, he caused it. A single touch, if he was able to touch them that is, and the heart-gripping emotion would spread through his victim’s veins. That shudder that humans felt along their spin, those ghost-like breathes on the very edges of their arms, the phantom sensation of a nonexistent cold that caused goosebumps. It was all Pitch’s doing, the result of his touch, of being in the very presence of fear itself. In the height of his power, a person hadn’t even needed to Believe in him to feel such things.

Could this ability affect the Dream Sand as well?

A scream penetrated his thoughts and a fear, more powerful than he’d felt in years, accompanied it. The Captain’s dream had reached its pivotal point. The woman shot up into a sitting position, her left hand reaching out for something that wasn’t there. Pitch felt his eyes widen before he immediately averted his gaze, desperately trying to ignore the way his face heated up. The woman’s shirt was missing, but bandages had been wrapped around her stomach and chest. There were four stains bleeding through the white wrappings, dyeing them a dark red. The Captain’s thrashings had obviously aggravated whatever injuries she had even further.

The door to the cabin opened up, revealing the First Mate standing at the entrance, looking haggard but still quite lovely. Pitch gave his head a rough shake, dissipating the irritating allure that the Mermaids seemed to constantly flaunt. The First Mate quickly shut the door, blocking out the moonlight that was unusually bright for a simple half-moon. Pitch delved deeper into the shadows. It seemed the Man in the Moon was worried over the dear Captain’s condition. He felt himself sneer. ‘ _How very touching._ ’ The Boogeyman thought snidely. He hadn’t seen the Moon this attached to a Spirit since it had created that oaf of a toymaker.

“Capt’n, art thou alright? I heard thou scream.” The Mermaid pointed out needlessly in Pitch’s opinion, everyone on the coast had likely heard that scream. The Captain merely sighed while absently dragging a hand through her tangled hair, not even bothering to open her eyes.

“Sorry Undine, jus’ a bad dream.” She answered before hissing in pain, her hands shooting down to wrap themselves around her torso.

“Thou hast ruined thine stitches.” The First Mate stated plainly before moving over towards the desk and coming back with a small wooden box that had a painted red cross on the front. “Lay down.” Pitch averted his eyes again as the Mermaid undid the Captain’s wrappings, but continued to listen attentively as he felt a spike of fear come from the woman.

“Do ye hath ta? Can’t we jus’ cover’em up with new bandages?” Pitch assumed that the First Mate had shook her head in answer, given how the Captain sighed heavily after a moment. He shifted through the shadows to a better position so that he could get a look at the Captain’s face uninhibited. “Well, at least hand me a bottle o’ rum before ye start.” The Mermaid did as requested and the Captain took a long swig. “I hate needles.” She muttered petulantly, before giving the hook in the First Mate’s hands a dark and apprehensive look.

“Tis not a needle Capt’n.” The Mermaid corrected and the woman scoffed.

“Alright, fine, I hate all sharp pointy things in general then.” She grouched, deliberately looking away as the Mermaid began her work, not knowing that she was looking at the Boogeyman’s hiding spot. “It don’t change the fact that yer basically knittin’ me flesh back t’gether like a scarf.” Pitch smirked, seeing that while the woman truly did hate needles, she beheld a small fear of them too.

“Thou hath such a way with words.” The Mermaid commented dryly while not looking up from her work. “Now that thee art awake, wilt thou tell me how thou came by these injuries?” The room was silent for a moment before the Captain spoke again. The fear Pitch felt from the Spirit was negligible at best. Whatever had hurt her, she had no distress of it.

“I don’t know what she was, but I didst get a name, Molpe.” The First Mate let out a sharp gasp as her entire body twisted to look up at her commander with wide eyes. “Ya know her then?” Pitch knew she did, the overwhelming alarm rolling off of the Mermaid said as much.

“Aye, she is not like us Capt’n. Molpe is a Demon.” The Boogeyman felt his own breath catch at that.

“Yeah, she wert a monster alright–”

“Nay, thee misunderstood. She is an actual Demon, likely the very last of her kind.” It had been a long time since Pitch had heard any mentions of the Demons. They had not been very fond of him as he’d often warned the humans of their presence and had told them when to flee. Fear had saved quite a few lives back then, though it was not as altruistic as it sounded. Everyone had been afraid of the Demons, it was something he’d reveled in. The Guardians had supposedly killed the last one over a hundred years ago, but apparently that was not the case. Pitch inwardly scoffed at the incompetent fools. Guardians indeed.

“Now that I think about it, Grimm didst mention somethin’ ‘bout Demons, but I hadn't given it much thought at the time…" The Captain trailed off and Pitch vaguely wondered who this Grimm was. "I wert on the Nile when I spotted her tryin' t' lure a little one into the water." She paused at this and the Mermaid moved to continue with her stitching. "Wait, if she be a Demon, then why did she look so beautiful?"

“Twas a guise. Her true appearance is a much uglier form similar to ours. All Demons hath two skins, their natural forms and a more human looking one. Her allure is also much more powerful than ours as well. She can enchant any male, be they mortal or Spirit, with just a smile. Centuries ago, the humans called Molpe and her sisters Sirens.” The First Mate explained evenly while not pausing in her work. “Over time, her preferences eventually turned to children.”

“I know. I stopped her from gettin’ her next meal.” The woman chuckled. “She wert pissed.”

“Begging thy pardon, Capt’n?” The Mermaid asked in confusion. Pitch raised an eyebrow at that as well.

“Ah, I meant she wert angry.” The Captain explained wryly and her First Mate nodded, likely use to her captain’s nonsensical words. “She could control the water, Undine.” Her tone was firm now, bitter and furious all at once. “My water.” She growled and the Mermaid nodded again, more resigned this time.

“She wert born from it Capt’n. All Demons art born from the Earth while Spirits like us art children of the Moon.” The First Mate explained as she began to rewrap the wounds with clean bandages. Once she finished, the woman slowly sat up, minding her injuries this time. “Please be more careful Capt’n, wounds caused by Demons take much longer to heal than regular injuries.”

“Thank ye for yer help Undine, ye can go.” The Mermaid nodded and put back the supplies before pausing at the door, hands tightening into fists at her side.

“I take it that Molpe shalt not leave thee be after this?” There was a tremor of fear in the question that Pitch picked up on easily.

“Aye.” The Captain answered with a smirk. “She seemed very determined t’ be rid o’ me.

“Must thou sound so eager? Demons art no laughing matter Capt’n.” The first mate reprimanded tiredly and the woman chuckled, her eyes gleaming a little in the candlelit room.

“Come now Undine, what’s adventure without a little fear?” The Mermaid just sighed and told the Captain to get some rest, before leaving the cabin and closing the door behind her.

Pitch studied the woman, his confusion increasing as she stared out at nothing in particular. It was not often someone actually showed an appreciation towards fear, but she sounded as though she hoped for it, as if she wanted to experience it. Oh. Realization set in and he sneered, feeling his derision for her increase tenfold. So she was one of those thrill seekers, was she? The type to laugh in the face of danger and the fear he brought? The Boogeyman gritted his teeth in anger.

Adventurers, how he loathed them.

“Ye might as well come out now. I can practically hear ya broodin’ over thar.” Pitch stiffened in surprise at being addressed directly. Had she known he’d been there the whole time? Why allow him to stay? “C’mon, hath a drink with me Pitch.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. Of course, the foolish woman merely wished to continue the odd ritual of her talking and drinking whilst he insulted her.

Pitch would have left then, he had no desire to be in the Captain’s company any longer, but the knowledge of a remaining Demon lingered in the back of his mind. He could perhaps us that to his advantage. Humans were still as superstitious as ever, and the rumors of a Siren that feasted on children could do him some good. It was just a little more fear to go his way.

“How out of all the Spirits to exist, didst thou end up being the one to find the last Demon?” He mocked her blithely, trying to ignore how much skin the woman was showing. ‘ _Dost she hath no sense of modesty?_ ’ Pitch asked himself as his eyes darted away from her form as she stretched her arms overhead, giving him a better view of her bandaged chest. The Captain must have picked up on his distress because she raised an eyebrow at him before putting on her blue vest and buttoned it. It wasn’t much, but at least Pitch could look at her without feeling so… discomfited.

“I’m jus’ lucky that way.” She answered simply as she leaned against the headboard of her bed. Pitch distantly noticed that the wood was carved with some sort of pattern, but he didn’t care enough to get a closer look. “Ye evar fight a Demon before?” She asked curiously and he moved around the cabin, preferring to inspect the room instead of looking at her. He noticed she’d added a few new books since two years ago, and several maps were sprawled across her desk and table.

“I hath fought my fair share of past battles. The Demons wert once much more daring and powerful in the beginning of the Dark Ages. Some challenged me openly, others I had to hunt down. They wert not fond of how I warned the humans of their presence.” Pitch answered as he stepped over to the globe, admiring the Lights that shone. “Twas the only thing that the Guardians and I wert ever a united front upon. There wert even a few encounters where they aided me, where we fought against the Demons side by side.”

“Heh, can’t imagine Bunny wert too happy ‘bout that.” The Captain remarked, making him smirk a little. No, the rabbit had certainly not been pleased on any of those occasions. He’d always been the quickest to turn his weapons on Pitch when the dust cleared and the enemy lay defeated.

“Met the rabbit, hath thee?” He asked lightly, though she seemed to have sensed his sourness towards the furry Guardian because she answered him rather quickly.

“Nah, but I can see the future, remember?” Was her sardonic response. Pitch surprised himself as much as the Captain when a short chuckle escaped his throat. Fortunately, she didn’t bring any attention to his little slipup. He turned to look back at the woman, eyes shining brightly in the dark room.

“Tell me about this Demon thou hast engaged.”

* * *

Davy spent ten days resting in her cabin, where she’d slowly been going stir-crazy, before Undine finally gave her the all clear. It was the first time she'd been injured as a Spirit so she had no idea how quickly she was supposed to heal, but apparently she took a long time if Adriatic was to be believed as a reliable source. On the bright side, she'd finally had a talk with Manny and cleared up a few things. Well, Davy had talked and he just shed some warm light on her, but she was pretty sure they were good now.

Not that they'd been on bad terms before, but still.

Today, as per following Undine's orders of taking it easy, Davy was currently lounging in the Caribbean, soaking in the sun and beautiful clear waters. Just as she began to nod off, she felt a light tap on her shoulder, startling her so badly that she fell off the railing and onto the deck. Looking up she saw Sandy floating on a cloud of sand, laughing silently at her reaction.

"Hardy har har, very funny Sandy." Davy grouched as she pushed herself up, feeling extremely grateful that her wounds had healed over, even if they’d left behind some ugly scars that were exceptionally noticeable against her tanned skin. She didn’t need him fussing over her too; Undine had smothered her enough during the past few days to last a lifetime. Sandy eventually calmed down and gave her a curious expression as a sand arrow appeared over his head, pointing towards her.

"What am I doin'?" She guessed and he nodded. "Well, I was restin'." He gave her a sheepish smile at that. "But… I hath been planin' t' check out the reefs in this area. It's an amazin' sight." She continued, smiling to herself as she remembered the last time she'd visited a coral reef. It had been years ago, back when she been sixteen and her family had gone on a cruise to the Bahamas.

Sandy smiled at her in return, a kind of wonder and curiousness building in his golden eyes as Dream Sand took form over his head. It made her glad to see that he was taking such an interest in her seas and in the things that she cared about. A sudden thought struck her as Davy recalled how Sandy had used so many aquatic creatures in the movie. So far, she'd only ever seen him use birds and woodland animals, like rabbits or deer.

Was she supposed to show him this?

"Ya want t' see?" She asked eagerly and he tilted his head to the side, a question mark appearing over his head. She stripped most of her attire, leaving only her pants and white shirt, and dove into the clear seawater below.

She took a moment to enjoy the warm tropical water. Sighing happily as her fins twitched slightly, feeling as if an itch had just been scratched. While Davy didn't need to be in the water most of the time like her crew did, her body certainly appreciated a good swim every now and then. And she really hadn't been able to enjoy her brief stint in the Nile.

"C'mon in Sandy, the water’s great!" He nodded excitedly before forming a diving board out of sand and jumping into the sea cannonball style.

As he fell Davy briefly wondered if the water would affect him, but quickly shook off the silly thought. Dream Sand was special, there was no way it would react to water the same way normal sand would. Her thoughts were proven correct as Sandy swam towards her, waving and looking untroubled by the new environment, though his coloring was a bit darker and his sandy hair laid flat against his head. After explaining the concept of a snorkel that Sandy easily replicated, she swam ahead of him, leading him towards the reef and marine life, pointing out things along the way and explaining what she knew. For a few years in her childhood, Davy had been completely fascinated with the ocean’s wildlife. Granted, it had been a few decades since then, so her memory was a little spotty, but she still knew enough to give him some basic information.

Sandy instantly took a liking to the manta rays which she'd expected, but there was a bit of a debacle with a jellyfish. Davy had to bite back a chuckle as Sandy glared after the retreating gelatinous animal, his stung finger in his mouth and pouting like a four year old. She watched, feeling absurdly proud as he swam up to look at everything with wide eyes, his face showing such marvel. This was the beauty that her oceans had to offer, what she wished everyone could see and appreciate.

A group of dolphins joined them after a little while. The playful mammals quickly became fond of Sandy's round and pudgy build and they started tossing him towards each other like he was a makeshift beach ball. Sandy let himself be passed around, giggling soundlessly as their noses tickled his sides. Davy really did laugh then. She was able to offer a bit more information on what dolphins were like and what they could do; he seemed amazed that such gentle creatures could be so helpful.

Eventually when they returned to the Flying Dutchman, Sandy was still beaming at her wildly as he gestured and recreated the things that they'd seen, once again reminding her of an overexcited kid. When he left hours later, flying away on a manta ray made of sand, she knew that she'd done a really good thing for the smallest Guardian. And it was surreal to know that she had affected his future, knowing that for years to come he would be crafting underwater animals out of his Dream Sand. It made her wonder just else she might end up effecting in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molpe is a figure in Greek Mythology, listed as one of the Sirens in Homer’s Odyssey. Looking sirens up online, I was surprised to learn that they were originally described as women/bird hybrids. It wasn’t until much later in history that people began to describe them as something similar to mermaids. Some of you know that I used Jenny Greenteeth before the rewrite. Worry not, Molpe is Greenteeth, the name and legend will become a part of her history eventually.
> 
> I wrote in that last bit because I thought Davy could use a little fluff at this point. Plus, I always found it odd how Sandy used so many water themed creatures in his creations. I was really happy with how well I made that fit in with her character, giving a plausible reason for why he used dolphins and manta rays. It made her way more relatable to the story, anchoring her into the Guardians’ Universe even further.
> 
> –Hexalys


	5. A Swashbuckling Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.” –Edgar Allan Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review!
> 
> Just to give you a warning, there’s some alcohol abuse in this chapter. 
> 
> You; Your = (Formal Use) Thou/Thee; Thy/Thine (Informal Use) Ye, Will = Wilt, Shall = Shalt, Have/Has = Hath/Hast, Were = Wert, Are = Art, Does/Did = Dost/Didst, It’s = Tis, It Was = Twas

It was Christmas Eve in the year 1422, when Nicolas St. North first caught sight of the large flying wooden ship. Never in all his years had he seen something so magnificent, so massive, flying through the air, easily gliding over clouds and gently rocking back and forth on the wind without any trouble. It had truly been a wondrous vision to behold. North had instantly wanted to investigate the strange phenomena above, but he’d still had so many gifts left to deliver.

So with a heavy heart and more than a few backward glances, North flew his sleigh southeast, reluctantly leaving behind the amazing flying ship. When he returned hours later just a few minutes before dawn, the ship was nowhere in sight.

The following months, as he thought up designs for new toys, North’s mind kept turning back to that flying ship. Inspiration struck him halfway through the year and he ordered all of his Yetis to begin making toy ships. There’d been some complaints at first, but North had brushed it aside as usual, reminding his workers that it was all for the children. The ships varied from all kinds and he let the Yetis make the toys through their own imaginings, as usual very pleased with how the toys turned out. The children were going to love them.

North, however, made almost the same ship every time he was on the work floor. That wasn’t to say that it wasn’t impressive, his ships were far more detailed than any other. The white sails were made from his best fabric; he’d even added the little black flag at the top, though he had no idea what it signified.

It wasn’t long before North realized he’d put too much care into his replicas of that flying ship. No children would be able to play with them without breaking them, they were far too fragile. Fortunately, the Yetis had made more suitable toys then him. So it was with a regretful sigh that he placed the hundreds of ships in the back room, upset that such wonderful toys would not belong to any child.

After that year he always made sure to keep an eye out for his wondrous flying ship. He made a few extra visits to his fellow Guardians come the following years, always searching the clouds, only to find the sky empty save for his sleigh, Sandy, and the occasional Fairy. It wasn’t until several Christmases later, in the year 1436, that something unusual happened again.

North had momentarily forgotten about his ship, thoroughly distracted by the rush to deliver toys to the ever expanding world. It happened while he was in one of the new port cities, a small harbor-like town dedicated to the fishing industry. He’d explored the new settlement eagerly; interested at seeing how the families in the New World lived.

While he was flying over the town, heading for the few houses in the neighboring woods, he’d heard loud and off-pitched yells come from down below by the docks. Curious, North landed his sleigh near the moorings and went to investigate just who was making such a ruckus at this time of night. He found the person responsible, a woman with strange light blue hair, stumbling along the crates and barrels that had been setup earlier in the day. She weaved towards him unsteadily with a bottle in her hands while she sung off key. North saw that her clothes were ruffled along with the rest of her appearance.

“‘Ave a ‘olly, jolly Chrishmash and when ye walk down the shtreet, shay ‘ello t’ friends ya know and everyone ya meet. Oh ho the mishtletoe, ‘ung where ya can’t shee. Shomebody waits for ya, kissh’em once for me.” The woman slurred as she tripped and landed near North, who instinctively reached out to steady her. He was surprised that he could touch her, she seemed much too old to still believe in him, but she merely chuckled after recovering from her misstep.

“Hey, I know ye! Yer Shanta Claus, yep. I believed in ya when I was a wee lass!” The woman said excitedly before her face dropped. “S’too bad ye weren’t real back then.” She brought the bottle up to her oddly colored lips and North grimaced, now close enough to smell the stink of liquor that clung to the woman’s breath. He took the bottle from her hands and she moaned at the loss of her drink, demanding that he return it to her.

“Uh-uh, no more alcohol, thou hast drunk enough.” North said firmly and she gave him an impressive glare that was only slightly ruined when she hiccupped. “Come, we find thine home.” He gently grabbed her upper arm, but she was surprisingly nimble for someone so intoxicated. She slid out of his hold and brought up a sharp sword, pointing it at his nose in a threatening manner.

“Me drink matey, I’d very much like it back, shavvy?” North narrowed his eyes and took a closer look at the woman. While her blue hair had been more than a little strange, he found that there were other things far odder about her appearance. For one, she had fins on her arms and legs, strangely reminding him of Tooth at that moment, and had pointed ears. Ah. He should have realized it sooner. The more he looked over her appearance, the more obvious it was that she wasn’t human at all. This was a new Spirit he hadn’t heard of before. He raised his hands slowly, showing that he meant no harm.

“We hath not announced ourselves as we should. I am North and thee art being?” The woman tilted her head, her earlier good cheer returning in that moment. It was then that North got a better look at her eyes. They were an odd, but beautiful green color. But there was something else to them and as he looked more closely, North felt as if they were a reflection of the seas themselves. When calm and serene he knew the ocean was an amazing sight to behold, but it could quickly turn dangerous and deadly when angry. This Spirit felt no different to him.

“I be Captain Davy Jones, pirate o’ the sheven sheas, mashter o’ the Flyin’ Dutchman.” She replied proudly while almost managing to stab herself twice as she swung about her sword. “But me real name be Davina, don’t tell no one though.” She shushed at him in an exaggerated manner and despite the situation, North chuckled at the woman’s inability to keep her own secret.

His laughter quickly faded however, when Davy pointed her cutlass back at him again. She gestured to the bottle in his hand and North knew he had two possible choices. He could give Davy the bottle and go back to his sleigh, delivering the rest of the presents without fear of delay, or he could help her and stay firm, not allowing her to poison herself even further. It really wasn’t much of a dilemma.

“I am very sorry fiend, but thou wilt not be getting back bad drink.” North only had a few seconds to dodge the wild slash that was aimed at his chest. He brought up one of his sabers, and blocked her second strike, mildly surprised at how much strength his smaller opponent had. In that respect, she suddenly reminded him of Sandy. “Now Davina, I am not wanting to fight thee.”

“‘Ow’d ye know me real name?” She asked heatedly as she took a swipe at his feet that he managed to jump over. “Did Grimm tell ye? I’ll keelhaul that scurvy bilge rat!” North tried to explain that he didn’t know any Grimm and that she was the one who told him her name, but instead he had to jump back to avoid an attack directed at his belly.

With little options left, North stuck the bottle into one of the large pockets in his coat and unsheathed his other sword. As he dueled with the Spirit, he found that she was very skilled in swordsmanship despite her drunkenness, though she still stumbled every now and then. He parried her attacks or redirected them away from himself harmlessly and after a few minutes, North found himself laughing from excitement.

It had been a long time since he’d last been in a good fight. The only previous battle he could remember was the one against Pitch Black from nearly forty years ago and he certainly hadn’t had the chance to enjoy it then. The Boogeyman had been out for blood back then, unlike now. Sure Davina wanted her drink back, but she wasn’t really trying to harm him, or at least North didn’t think she was. It did make him wonder how well she could fight while not being impaired by alcohol though.

As he pushed her back with a particularly strong lunge, Davina was forced to climb onto one of the crates that she’d stumbled into earlier. North followed her lead, blocking and attacking as they scaled up the mountain of barrels and boxes. It was only once they reached the top that he realized their new scenery was not the best place to have a sword fight. The stockade under their feet wiggled and tilted dangerously and the ground was below them by a good eight feet.

As if sensing his thoughts, a smaller crate that he’d been standing on shook precariously, and North instinctively shot his arms outwards to regain his balance, leaving him unable to block his fellow Spirit’s sword. The sound of something being sheared off rang throughout the quiet night air and North felt his eyes widen as they landed on the large patch of white that seemed to float in front of his face for a moment. Davina froze too, her face twisted into astonishment and disbelief before she broke into hysterical giggling.

North, still in shock, brought a hand up to his beard. A small choked sound of incredulity escaped his throat as short sharp bristles greeted his calloused fingers.

“Moya boroda!” He shouted in horror, blue eyes falling to the clumps of white hair gathered at his feet. Davina was doubled over with laughter by this point, her sword abandoned at her side as she tried to regain her breath. North looked up at her angrily, eyebrows narrowed as a rare furiousness raced through his blood.

But then the box that Davina stood on faltered and she tumbled backwards, her laughter dying as she disappeared over the edge. North saw his hands automatically reach out for her, even though he knew he couldn’t possibly grab her in time. He heard a heavy thump and quickly climbed down the crates, jumping the last few feet and rushing over to her side.

“Davina, Davina! Art thou alright?” He stopped as he saw her form curled up on the cobblestone ground, unconscious. North bent down, seeing no wound other than a bump on the side of her forehead, and sighed with relief before scooping her up into his arms. They returned to his sleigh and his reindeer shifted, likely curious about what he was carrying and laid her down next to the small sack of toys.

He checked on Davina occasionally as he delivered the rest of his gifts, but she didn’t move for the rest of the night. As dawn arrived he brought her back with him to the Workshop, knowing he couldn’t just leave here somewhere in good conscience. As the Yetis greeted him and made a fuss about his beard, North assigned Phil to take care of his unexpected guest, trusting that his second in command would take good care of her. Right now he had to see what had become of his beard and prayed that Bunny would never find out about this.

* * *

Davy groaned as she came to, gripping her aching head as a powerful internal force pounded behind her temples painfully. Her hangovers seemed to be getting worse every time she woke up. Maybe Manny was making them worse. She was pretty sure that an otherworldly protector over children should not indulge themselves in the spirits like she did. ‘ _Then again, it isn’t like any kids can see me, so what does it matter if I drink a little too much?_ ’

She glowered at herself for that thought. Davy hated self-pity, but there she went again, thinking her life was so horrible and trying to drink the lonely nights away. Usually she had better control over how much she indulged and her crew could normally pull her out of her funk before she could get too depressed. But last night had been Christmas Eve and the memories of lost loved ones and her lack of companionship had driven her to a new low.

Davy could only slightly recall the events of last night. There were blurred images of Undine’s disappointed face and of her sneaking off the Flying Dutchman. Then arriving at a port town and breaking into some barrels of rum left by the docks. There was something else there though, a flash of red and white, and the shingling sound of metal hitting metal. Had she gone to a blacksmith’s forge last night?

After a long moment, Davy slowly opened her eyes, flinching at the bright white ceiling above her. She moaned lowly, pulling the covers of a blanket over her head and rolled onto her side. A moment later her body shot up, belatedly realizing that there was no white ceiling in her cabin. She looked around her, eyes widening as she took in the carved wooden walls that looked like pine trees. She was lying in a soft bed, one that was smaller than her own, dressed with red and white sheets. She quickly got up and checked herself over.

She was wearing her clothes still, but her boots had been placed next to the bed and she quickly put them on while trying to ignore the throbbing of her head and failing at it miserably. Her hat and coat were missing, but Davy had the feeling that she’d just forgotten them on the ship when she’d snuck off. She couldn’t remember taking them with her, but then again she couldn’t remember much of last night either. Her cutlass, however, was nowhere to be seen and she always carried her sword with her now that she knew that Molpe was out there.

Just as she was about to panic, a knock came from the bedroom door. It opened and she tensed, not knowing what to expect. A massive furry creature poked its’ head into the room and Davy gaped, instantly recognizing the creature from the Rise of the Guardians.

Phil, and she was merely assuming it was him, looked at her for a second, seemingly surprised to find that she was awake and out of bed, before coming in with a tray full of Christmas cookies. He spoke, the noise sounded like growls and grunts that she couldn’t understand, but his gestures were easy enough to decipher: get back on the bed. Davy did as he said, numbly sitting back down and simply staring as he set the tray down on a bedside table.

His massive hands reached out towards her, touching her head and it was only then that Davy noticed that there was something wrapped around her forehead. A hand shot up to investigate, but Phil batted it away, messing with whatever it was while grumbling under his breath. After a moment he pulled away with a small wad of white bandages in his grip.

“Wait, was I injured? How’d I get hurt?” Davy asked in surprise. “What am I even doing here?” He said something else and just pointed at the cookies, obviously already knowing it would be pointless to explain since she couldn’t understand him. She nodded and muttered her thanks before he promptly marched out of the room without looking back. The cookies were warm and she smiled at the sugary taste in her mouth. It had been a long time since she’d had sweets.

While Davy had no problem with getting her hands on rum, baked goods were a little harder to come by out on the open seas. Being a Spirit, she found she didn’t actually need any food, but she felt it was too unsettlingly to not eat. It made her feel less… human. When she’d said as much to Undine, her First Mate had shrugged before admitting she’d been a fish before Manny had changed her and the others. When Davy did eat, an activity she partook in only every few days, she had apples and fruits mostly, things she could harvest from the land, but she’d shared a few meals with unsuspecting sailors as well. Her few stunts of pilfering cooked fish off of a plate in a tavern or in a ship’s kitchen was never noticed much among people.

“Ah, is about time thee awoke! Merry Christmas!” An easily recognizable Russian accented voice called joyfully from the doorway. Davy’s head shot up in surprise, having not heard the burly man enter her room. “Come, Davina, come, we talk.” North said as he gestured for her to follow him.

She jerked slightly at hearing her old name. Only Grimm ever called her that and she didn’t see very much of the Reaper considering how busy he was. With another impatient wave of his giant hands and a warm smile donned on his pleased face, Davy cautiously approached the most iconic Spirit of the Guardians. He laid a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him in amazement, noticing North was ridiculously tall.

_Santa Claus_ , she was talking to the actual, really real, one and only, St. Nick. Davy decided this was definitely one of the coolest moments in her life, or rather afterlife.

“I thought yer beard would be longer.” Slipped out of her mouth without thought, genuinely taken aback by how much shorter his famous beard was in comparison to its length in the movie. It barely reached his collarbone. North’s face morphed into a look that she couldn’t place, before he laughed suddenly, the booming sound filled the room with a jolly merriment that was hard not to join. “Uh, matey, how didst I get here?”

“I see thou art not remembering last night.” North sort of answered. He chuckled again before continuing, not giving her a chance to ask questions. “We had very enjoyable fight, but perhaps got little too carried away.” His hand gestured to his short beard and Davy felt her eyes widen in shock.

“Art ye sayin’ that I…?” She trailed off as he nodded, his round blue eyes shining with amusement. She felt her jaw drop and North laughed again. “I am so sorry, I–” He waved off the apology and led her out of the room, one hand firmly placed on her back and propelling her forward. Her sputtering was cut off as her gaze landed on the work floor of North’s Workshop.

It looked so unbelievable, so remarkable that the brief glimpse she’d had in the movie was nothing compared to the sight before her. While the up-to-date toys were missing, there was still so much magic in the air. Toy boats of various sizes and spectacular colors soared over and across the atrium. She spotted riding stick-horses for young boys being carved by a few Yetis, while another group worked on different types of dolls for little girls. Rolling hoops moved down the hallways, weaving around the bumbling Elves without any help. Puppets moved on their own, rocking horses swayed through the air and various spinning tops danced across the work floor.

“This be– I mean tis jus’– wow.” North chuckled again and Davy didn’t really have it in her to hide her awed expression.

“Come Davina and I explain happenings from last night.” And then she was left trying to follow North through the busy Workshop. She ducked when she had to, stopped to let toys or Yetis walk by and all the while strained to keep up with North, who navigated through the chaotic maze with ease. It took some minutes, even with a guiding hand from North on occasion, before they finally reached his office that she’d seen in the movie. He shut the door behind them, the metal locks falling into place automatically. Davy let her sights roam over the area, instantly liking the little niche of a room that the Cossack had made for himself.

There was something homey about it, reminding her of a small log cabin, even if half of the room was made up of ice. There was a fire roaring in the hearth and a wide window took up most of the back wall, showing the snowflakes floating by in a sea of white. Numerous toys littered the wooden shelves and ice sculptures in various stages covered the center worktable. A huge bed was pushed off into the corner wall with a detailed wooden frame and red and white blankets. Beside the bed was a small table with an empty wooden plate, a thick brown book, and a few well-used candles.

“Hmm, Elves should hath brought new cookies by now.” North muttered as he eyed the room, obviously looking for said sugary treats. “Bah, no matter, now is the time for talking.”

“Aye.” Davy said agreeably, taking the chair that he offered as North leaned against the edge of the worktable. “What happened last night, exactly?” Her question made his face light up like a Christmas tree.

For the next half-an-hour Davy listened as North explained how they’d met. Though she was more than a little peeved for not being able to remember it on her own. She silently vowed to never allow herself to become that drunk ever again. She chuckled at the actions of her drunken self, at North’s terrible attempt at reenacting their fight, and finally she fell into a laughing fit when he told her about how his beard had received its unexpected trim.

“I be very sorry North, really. Feelin’ all contrite, I am.” He gave her a look that was full of both doubt and mirth and Davy had to bite her lip to keep back the new wave of snickers that threatened to break through. “Honest.” She insisted firmly, though her smirk refused to budge and become the heartfelt frown she wanted it to. North shook his head good-naturedly, clearly already over having lost several inches from his once lengthy beard.

“Is bridge over water.” He said amiably before taking a bite out of a cookie that the Elves had brought in during the middle of his story. “Now, tell me who Captain Davy Jones is, dah? How long hast thou been a Spirit? What is purpose Manny gives?”

“Ah, me purpose is t’ guard those who travel by sea.” She answered easily while politely accepting the cookie he offered. “Let’s see, I wilt hath been a Spirit for fourteen years come May and as for who I be, well that’d take a bit longer t’ answer matey. I be Captain o’ the Flyin’ Dutchman and her crew–” Davy stopped there, a sense of alarm taking over her face as she remembered something very important. “Blast me for a fool, I completely forgot ‘bout me crew!” She shot up from her seat, startling the older Spirit, and began pacing as she muttered worriedly under her breath.

“Crew?” North’s bushy eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Thou hast a crew? What art they like?”

“Huh? Oh, they be Mermaids.” She answered absently, not seeing the marveled expression appear on North’s face. She was completely focused on her thoughts, trying to recall what happened last evening before her mind had fallen into a drunken haze.

The crew had been with her early in the night. Over the years, they’d slowly come to understand how lonely she got around Christmas, but they couldn’t stay with her long. They could only be out of water for a few hours at a time and she’d felt too sorry for herself to actively pursue their company. Instead, she’d decided to drown her sorrows in alcohol. Undine had found her that way at half-past midnight and had locked her up in her cabin after confiscating all of her rum. Davy could barely remember sneaking out of the windows and swimming to the nearest port, but nothing much after that.

She grimaced at the floor; Undine had to be furious with her.

“Mermaids.” North repeated in wonder. He’d never seen the creatures himself, but he knew of them from the children who’d sent him letters asking for dolls crafted in their likeness. Unfortunately he had only ever been able to create the toys from his own imaginings. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him. “They art worried about thee, dah?” He asked happily and Davy nodded, still too deep into her own thoughts to pay attention to what he was saying. “Then we go see them.”

“Wait, what?” Davy asked quickly, confused by the sudden turn of events. “What dost ye mean?” North grabbed his coat off of a hook near the fireplace along with his furry hat. “We art goin’ t’ see who?”

“Thine crew of course!” He responded jovially as they headed out of his office and back onto the work floor.

“We most certainly art not!” She argued back, though North was barely listening at this point as he ordered the nearest Yeti to prepare the sleigh and to get her things. “Undine wilt lead a mutiny against me. It wouldst be best t’ wait a few days for her temper t’ calm down, savvy?” As she tried to continue explaining why this was such a bad idea, Davy didn’t even realize that they’d moved lower into the Workshop until she saw the sleigh and reindeer.

“Easy Davina, we wilt be fine.” North stated calmly as he looked over the sleigh and patted the leading reindeer. “Is it not best to face First Mate now?”

“Nay, tis not.” She replied stubbornly as she eyed the sleigh, which okay, way cooler in real life. It lacked the modifications it had in the movie and looked like a normal sleigh. But still, it was Santa Claus’ freaking sleigh, being pulled by eight giant flying reindeer. “Firstly, call me Davy. And secondly, I cannot leave without me effects.” A nearby Yeti, the same one she’d encountered earlier, entered the room with said items and she groaned before taking them. Apparently, she had taken her coat with her after all.

“Will not be so bad, thou art simply building things up in head.” North offered, his blues eyes taking in the sight of her impressive black tailcoat and the sword resting at her waist. She certainly looked more intimidating than she had a few moments ago. Davy merely shook her head, resigning herself to her fate as climbed into the sleigh. He moved to follow her lead, but paused as three Yetis also climbed into the sleigh. “Now what dost thou thinkest thou art doing?” Davy had no idea what the Yeti said in return, but North clearly understood and merely sighed in response. The Yeti that helped her earlier sat down next to her, grumbling in greeting.

“Davy, these two art Mark and Kyle.” North said as he gestured to the two light brown Yetis who’d decided to remain standing. They looked almost completely identical, except Mark had a layer of white fur surrounding his eyes. Davy waved awkwardly and they mimicked the action. “And this is Phil. He treated thy injury.” He said while nodding to the Yeti that she’d pegged as Phil earlier. Davy opened her mouth to say thank you, but her body suddenly lurched backwards as the sleigh charged forwards, cutting her off and almost making her bite her tongue.

Phil caught her before she could be flung out of the sleigh completely and she offered him a smile as thanks before her attention turned towards the rollercoaster-like sleigh ride. The speed, sharp turns, and loop-de-loops reminded her of times spent at amusement parks. Davy laughed and shouted along with North in exhilaration, while the Yetis hung on tightly and grumbled sourly to each other. Once they left the ice tunnel and were in the air, she moved over to North, grinning wildly as her heart raced in her chest.

“So how art ye plannin’ on findin’ me ship?” She asked lightly, hoping to see his magical snow globes from the movie. True to her predictions, North gave her a mischievous wink before pulling out a glass sphere from his coat pocket. He handed it to her and she managed to muster up what she hoped to be a genuinely confused look.

“Merely shake snow globe and speak destination into it, then throw. Is very simple.” She did as he explained, already knowing how it worked, and threw it ahead of them by a good distance. Being sucked into the wormhole, because Davy was pretty sure that’s what it was, was a very unique feeling. She felt dizzy, but there was more to it. It was as if the world was shifting around her while they were the ones who’d remained still. She heard North gasp as they appeared on the other side and Davy shook her head, only slightly disoriented, before looking around. The Dutchman was below them, sailing along the coast of the New World, and she could see a quarter of the crew running about the deck.

“This is thine ship?” He asked in a stunned whisper and she felt her chest swell with pride at the blatant look of amazement on his face.

“Ye should see it in the sky matey.” She chuckled and an odd noise escaped his throat before he let out a triumphant shout.

“I knew it wert same ship I saw fourteen years ago!” His rosy cheeks were even brighter than usual and he turned to give her a bone crushing hug. “Ha-ha, I knew there wert reason we met, is fate!” Davy wasn’t exactly sure what North was talking about, but she was too busy nursing her bruised back to bother asking. When they landed on the ship’s deck, Undine was standing at the head of the crew to greet them and looking rather irritated. When she spotted Davy subtly trying to hide behind North, she looked downright pissed.

“Nice of thee to show up, Captain.” Davy tried to give her First Mate an apologetic smile, but Undine had already moved on to address North and the others. She winced. Oh, Undine was very angry with her. “I take it thou art the one to find our wandering commander?” She asked stiffly and North nodded silently, looking much more subdued than he had a few moments ago. “Then thou hath our gratitude.” The crew and their captain seemed to exhale as a one when Undine gave him a small smile.

“Allow me t’ introduce Nicolas St. North and his friends, Phil, Mark, and Kyle. Fellas, this be my magnificent crew and wonderful First Mate, Undine.” Davy said with an easy smile and the Mermaids rushed over to meet them, most only having an eye for North, but oddly enough she saw White and Bering break away to talk to Kyle and Mark. She turned to Undine to ask what that was all about, but saw her First Mate already in a conversation with Phil.

She caught her friend’s eye and Undine flushed lightly before turning back to Phil. Amazed at catching her First Mate blushing, Davy looked over at Bering and White to find that they were in a similar state. Was it possible that the rest of her crew would be attracted to North’s Yetis? How did they even understand them? Curious, she turned to North, who was too interested in the ship to notice all of the come hither looks that her shipmates were sending him.

“North?” He hummed, so she figured he was listening. “How many Yetis dost ye hath?” She saw her crew perk up at that.

“Hmm, oh, thirty.” He answered distractedly while pulling on the rope to the main sails. Her crew whispered excitedly to each other, obviously having already seen that their crewmates had been figuratively struck by Cupid’s arrow. Davy furrowed her eyebrows at that. What were the odds that Manny would give her thirty Mermaids to match North’s thirty Yetis? He wasn’t playing matchmaker now, was he? She gave the clear blue sky a suspicious glance.

It was too much of a coincidence not to be taken seriously, especially with that blatant dreamy expression on Undine’s face, who’d never once lost her composure around a man before. The Yetis also seemed to be enjoying themselves, though she couldn’t be sure since she could hardly make out their expressions under all that fur. Their body postures seemed at ease though and they weren’t tripping over themselves from the allure her crew gave off. North finally looked up from his investigation of the Flying Dutchman, blinking in surprise at seeing his Yetis chatting it up with three beautiful Mermaids. He gave Davy a bemused look, her face just as perplexed as his. He’d clearly never seen his workers act like this before either.

“Davy, what is going on?” He asked while raising his eyebrows at Phil as the usually stoic Yeti smiled warmly at the First Mate. The Captain rolled her eyes and gave a helpless shrug.

“The weirdest Christmas miracle evar, North.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When North says “Moya boroda!” he’s actually saying “My beard!” in Russian. I was going to either have him say “Shostakovich” or “Korsakov” like he did in the movie, but Shostakovich is actually alluding to Dmitri Shostakovich, a Russian composer who wasn’t born until 1906. Korsakov comes from another composer, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, who wasn’t born until 1844. I obviously couldn’t use either word, so I just went with him exclaiming things in Russian. 
> 
> I know North has an accent, and that he sometimes says things wrong, like the “tacks of brass” line that he used in the movie. I’ve seen some writers replace the W’s with V’s when they have him speak, making him say “vell” instead of “well”, but he didn’t really have any problem with pronunciations. There’s an underling inflection in his speech, but it’s not as noticeable as with Bunny. He’s sort of like Pitch in that regard.
> 
> –Hexalys


	6. The Valentine’s Day Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Most people are slow to champion love because they fear the transformation it brings into their lives. And make no mistake about it: love does take over and transform the schemes and operations of our egos in a very mighty way.” –Aberjhani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review!
> 
> For those familiar with this story, you might notice that I’ve made a brand new Chapter 6, and changed the former into Chapter 7. I was having a bit of trouble with the timeline and how I wanted certain events to happen and had to rework some things. For instance, I originally had Davy gain her first Believer after about fifty years, but decided to make it a bit longer as you’ll read in the next chapter.
> 
> I mainly did this though, because I’ve come up with a headcanon on how Spirits celebrate anniversaries and such. Instead of getting together every year, Spirits do it every one hundred years. Since I wanted to work Cupid and some other OC’s into this story before the movie’s plotline took off, I needed to switch things up a bit. 
> 
> You; Your = (Formal Use) Thou/Thee; Thy/Thine (Informal Use) Ye, Will = Wilt, Shall = Shalt, Have/Has = Hath/Hast, Were = Wert, Are = Art, Does/Did = Dost/Didst, It’s = Tis, It Was = Twas

“Ugh, I beseech thee Davy Jones! Please tell me today is not the fourteenth day of February!” Grimmons moaned in greeting while stepping from the shadows to collapse face forward onto Davy’s bed. His sudden entrance startled Davy, and she caught herself instinctively reaching for her sword before stopping. Grimm lifted his head to look in her direction, his hood remarkably still in place so his face remained swallowed in darkness, before letting it drop back down with a heavy groan.

“Fraid it is matey.” She confirmed slowly, bemused at the sight before her. Had she fallen asleep at her desk again? This seemed to be too surreal to be anything but a dream.

“And lo, what a wretched day this be for all.” He stated sourly, before pushing himself up into an awkward slouch that did not fit his towering stature. Grimm was easily the second tallest Spirit she knew, being just about an inch or two shorter than North. But where North was bulky and broad shouldered, Grimm was much thinner, though Davy wasn’t sure just how thin since his billowing robe did a fine job of hiding his build. “Oh how I abhor this holiday!” Davy chuckled at him, remembering a few friends who’d had similar opinions in her past life. Though she couldn’t understand why he was making such a fuss, this was the first time she’d heard him complain about Valentine’s Day.

“I take it death and love don’t get along?” She asked as she leaned back in her chair, silently grateful to be interrupted.

“On the contrary, love is the leading cause for death. Love for ones’ god, for ones’ country and king, for family and friends. The greatest wars to hath ever been waged wert caused by the frivolous feeling. Love is a tragedy.”

“Hmm, nevar thought about it that way before.” Davy hummed with a teasing smile. “Tho’ yer words o’ wisdom don’t ring so true when yer sulkin’ like that.” He scoffed loudly, trying and failing to hide his brief chuckle behind the action.

“I cannot help it. I despise this day more than any other, what with the chirping Lovebirds and soppy mortals reciting paltry poetry.” Grimm protested before sighing wistfully. “How I miss the days before Cupid’s creation, truly they were happier times.”

“Ye hath lived through hundreds o’ this day. What makes this one so unbearable?” Davy asked curiously and he sighed again, this one showing his irritation and dismay. He pulled out a roll of parchment from his left sleeve, waving it through the air wildly.

“Behold the source of my pain.” He growled. “An epistle from Cupid herself.” The Captain quickly stood from her seat, eyes sparking mischievously as she tracked the note in his skeletal hand.

“Yer gettin’ love letters? From Cupid? Grimm, I nevar knew thou wert such a charmer.”

“Do not be daft woman!” He sounded absolutely scandalized. “I wouldst sooner die than adore such an annoying creature!”

“Ah, but therein lies the conundrum, for death cannot die.” She replied with a smirk.

“I would find a way, I assure thee.” The Reaper argued, humor underling his tone once more.

“So why art thee receivin’ notes from Cupid?” Davy continued and he tossed the letter over to her. Upon the cream colored parchment were a few short sentences in red ink. The handwriting was elegant, a cursive style filled with wide loops and slanted lines. “To Grimmons the Grim Reaper, Spirit o’ Death. Thine presence is graciously requested t’ attend the annual Valentine’s Day Ball beheld at the Cloud Castle upon the fifteenth o’ February. I look forward to see thee attendin’. Sincerely Amora Cupid, the Spirit o’ Love.” The graceful signature at the bottom was written in the biggest size on the page and decorated with drawn hearts that would have come off as juvenile if the handwriting wasn’t so tasteful. “Valentine’s Day Ball? Nevar heard o’ it.”  

“I am not surprised. Cupid only hosts the vile thing every one hundred years, thank Manny.” Grimm muttered and she snorted at his unusually prissy attitude.

“Well it sounds like it might be a bit o’ fun.”

“Oh indeed, especially if thou enjoyest listening to that vain Spirit boasting overly, as she hast done at every festivity since her creation.” He huffed with no small amount of dislike. “Or having to hear her irritating Lovebirds that twitter near constantly in thine ears.”

“Her what?”

“Lovebirds, horrid little beasts. They art exactly as they art called, birds that bring love to those who hear their chirping songs.”

“I thought she used a bow and arrows?” Davy asked and Grimm snickered.

“Unfortunately not. Though I do so ever revel in envisioning such a misbelief the humans hath created. It maddens her to no end. Nay, Cupid’s bow and arrows art weapons, not tools of love.”

“Matey, if ye hate her parties that much, then don’t go.” She said simply and he gave a rather hesitant shake of his head. “Who wilt be at this gatherin’ exactly?” He tapped the end of his scythe against the floor idly in thought.

“Ombric’s and Matura’s presence varies, as dost mine, though admittedly not for a lack of trying on their part. I know the Muse never misses it, and Sandman is usually there for a time before leaving. As the Leprechaun’s and the Easter Bunny’s holidays art so close, they only appear for a short while. North and his Yetis art ever present, and like Sanderson, Toothiana leaves long before the evening ends. Will-o’-the-Wisp should be attending as well, lest he chose not to for whatever reason. I missed the last celebration because of the plague and the one before that due to a few wars.” Grimm’s tone dropped during the last sentence, sounding tired in a way she’d never heard before. And Davy was suddenly very aware that her friend must’ve seen a lot of horrible things throughout his existence. Despite what he might say, a party would do him good.

“Do ye think I wilt be invited?” His mood seemed to brighten at the question.

“I hath no doubt. Cupid would never remiss the prospect to sing her own praises.”

“We should go t’gether then!” Grimm made a choking noise beside her and Davy was sure she was supposed to feel somewhat offended at his reaction, rather than just confused. “Or I shalt jus’ ask Sandy instead?” She offered, which was clearly the wrong response because now he was laughing at her. “What?”

“If thou wert to attend the ball with me, or any other Spirit for that matter, it would be an avowal that we art lovers.” It was her turn to choke and Grimm chuckled at her. “It is the Valentine’s Day Ball; tis a celebration of love.”

“So if I went with Sandy or North…”

“They wouldst be perceived as thy lover by the rest of the Spirits, no matter what thou sayest otherwise. Now thou understands why I hate Cupid’s merrymakings. Tis nothing but a breeding ground for inane gossip.”

“Oh.” Davy fell silent as she stared at the wall opposite her in thought. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. In this age, dating wasn’t a concept that people understood. Sure they could court each other, but that was a pursuit people only practiced when they were determined to marry the other. The general public in her time had been much more liberal when it came to relationships. One night stands were accepted and talked about between friends. Children born out of wedlock had been frowned upon sure, but it definitely wasn’t the taboo it appeared to be now. The fact that going to the ball with one of her friends without being seen as intimate only furthered to remind Davy just how different the world’s culture was compared to what she grew up with.

She wondered how North or Sandy would’ve reacted if she’d asked them to Cupid’s ball before knowing what it really meant? Would they have said yes, or choked on air like Grimm had and find the misinterpretation as amusing? She suddenly felt like she’d dodged a bullet. Davy couldn’t even view Sandy in a romantic sense. As for North, she was surprised to realize that she wouldn’t have been opposed to the idea if he looked about twenty years younger. As shallow as it sounded, she had a hard time seeing past his physical appearance. He looked old enough to be her grandfather after all. It would be too weird. The only other Spirit she knew was Pitch.

“What about Pitch?” She blurted aloud and Grimm turned to her, confused.

“Pardon?”

“Ye nevar said how often Pitch goes t’ the ball.” She pointed out, feeling oddly self-conscious for asking the question. Grimm not appearing to be any less perplexed wasn’t helping.

“That would be because he hast never attended one. Though I am not sure if it is because Cupid hast, at no time, invited him, or if the reason is that he simply refuses to come.” He tilted his head to look at her. “I wert not aware that thou knew of Pitch Black.”

“Oh, I, uh, met him a couple decades back.” She admitted before closing her mouth. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to keep her… acquaintance with Pitch a secret, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Though she had doubts that Grimm would care all that much. It was Sandy and North she had to worry about. “Well, at any point, I wilt make sure t’ see ye at the ball. Ya know, ta hang out.”

“Hang out?” He repeated curiously, always amused when she sometimes slipped and used modern slang.

“Uh, it means we wilt keep each other company throughout the party.” She translated and he gave a slow nod, his tall figure seeming to tense up. “Jus’ as friends o’ course.” She added quickly, but he didn’t relax any.

“As thine friend, I should warn thee that I am a Spirit rather out of favor.” Grimmons stated seriously. “I am only requested to attend Cupid’s Ball as she is afraid that I would be insulted if otherwise. I only appear because Ombric and Matura insist that I do so. Therefore, most Spirits, save a few like Sanderson, avoid me. Tis only natural I suppose. Every living creature wishes to elude death. Nevertheless, if thee wert seen with me, I fear that thou wouldst be shunned as well. I would not be offended if thee–

“Oh shut yer damn yap, Grimm. I wilt spend my time with whomever I want. I ain’t ashamed or worried t’ be seen with ye. And if the others rebuff me because o’ something like that, then I don’t wanna talk t’em in the first place.” His stiffened frame slackened after a second, accompanied with a breathy, relieved chuckle.

“Manny made a wise decision in making thee, Davy Jones.”

* * *

Grimm was, as usual, right. Davy got an invitation some hours later, written in the same cursive handwriting as the letter he had received. The content was basically the same, with the only change being that her crew was invited as well. Her shipmates were of course more than excited to go to Cupid’s Ball, especially when they learned that the Yetis would be attending.

The missive had been delivered by what Davy assumed to be one of Cupid’s Lovebirds. The little bird was the same size as a robin, but the feathers covering its’ body were a vibrant shade of red while its’ face, tail feathers, the ridges of its’ wings were white, and on the center of its’ downy white chest was a red heart. She was a bit taken aback by how quickly the little Lovebird warmed up to her. It had twittered about, cooing happily as it brushed up against her face and hands affectionately.

She wrote a response on some parchment kept in her own desk, which was clearly of a poorer grade than Cupid’s, and the ink she’d used was old and beginning to clot. Her penmanship had been reduced to chicken scratches over the years from the lack of practice. She’d tried to make her rsvp look more impressive, tying it with a blue ribbon and a jewel encrusted ring she considered to be too gaudy to ever wear. The Lovebird had given her fingers a friendly nip before taking the letter and flying off.

After the little bird left, Davy wondered if she was supposed to wear something more… sophisticated to Cupid’s Ball. She did have a teal Victorian dress that her mermaids had rescued a few years back from a sinking merchant’s ship. It had too many ruffles and bows for her liking, but it was sleeveless, something that was considered rather tasteless by society’s current standards. She hadn’t actually worn it yet, having decided to save it for a special occasion.

However, after standing in front of her vanity mirror for fifteen minutes, self-consciously studying and tugging on the skirt, Davy decided it would be best to just wear her usual clothes, along with her captain’s coat and hat to make her appear a bit more formal. For jewelry, she went with very little. A deep blue satin choker with a black lacey fringe was tied comfortably around her neck. A pair of gold earrings dipped into a tear pattern, segmented with sparkling sapphires, and had foregone the bracelets, leaving her wrists bare.

Her crew on the other hand, went out of their way to dress up. They arrived on the Dutchman hours before the Ball, carrying dresses, skirts, sashes, ribbons, corsets, and petticoats. She suspected that the mass of clothes had been pillaged from villages, since very few seemed to have signs of longstanding water stains. Even Undine seemed to be in the spirit of things. Her dress, a dark green fabric that complimented her olive skin nicely, was one of the more extravagant outfits. A pale gold embroidery was stitched along the hem of the skirt, decorating the sleeves and high-collar. Her Mermaids had refused to wear any shoes, but no one could tell as the style of dresses in this day and age went all the way to the floor. Her crew raided her vanity, donning gold and silver trinkets adorned with rare gemstones.

Davy had worried that she would feel inadequate when compared to her shipmates, who were decked up and looking more beautiful than ever, but surprisingly that wasn’t the case. Maybe it was because she’d always been proud of her formal black coat, confident when having her cutlass at her waist, and self-assured with her hat upon her head. She only felt satisfied, dressed in britches while her crew adjusted their skirts. These clothes helped make her Davy Jones; were given to her by the Man in the Moon. This would be her first time meeting the majority of the other Spirits and she wanted them to see her as she truly was.

They took the Dutchman to the sky, much to her crews’ displeasure. Maybe it was because they were Mermaids, and that the analogy of a fish out of water held too true. She’d never forced them to sail through the sky before, respecting their decisions. She’d had no idea that they would react the way they did. It was a wonder that Pitch hadn’t shown up, what with all the unease they must’ve been projecting.

Undine was stricter than usual, barking orders at anyone who wasn’t looking busy. There was a frantic energy among her crew, fidgeting and twitching with the desire to move, to no longer be in the air. Nerves were pushed and tensions rose, several women snapped at each other, unprovoked, while others became abnormally silent and distant. Davy did her best to keep everyone calm, she was forceful when she needed to break up an argument, but gentle when she tried to draw the quieter ones into action. She was just as relieved as her Mermaids when Cupid’s Cloud Castle finally came into view.

Unsurprisingly, the Cloud Castle could only be found in the sky. As such it had a tendency to drift, just as all clouds do, but Grimm had assured her that Cupid always kept her home stationary above Rome for the Ball. She was surprised to find that the castle wasn’t entirely made out of clouds. Davy could spot marble pillars and floors among the cumulus, decorated with sweeping transparent curtains made of soft pinks and light reds.

There wasn’t exactly a pier or a harbor to weigh anchor at. Fortunately the Dutchman was an incredible ship. Davy easily steered it to an open balcony, where she could spy a few Spirits gathering at the entrance. She smiled, pride building in her chest as she imagined their impressed expressions. Grimm had told her that her ship was likely to earn a few jealous looks. It was a trait all Spirits shared, they couldn’t resist showing off and were always trying to one-up each other. It made sense when she thought about it. North and Bunny had argued about their holidays in the movie, and all of them had been very competitive when collecting the teeth. Even Pitch had shown off when he could. Pulling up against the starboard side, she gave the Dutchman orders to stay put until they returned from the Ball. Leading her crew onto the balcony, she was quickly greeted by North as he pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

“Davy!” He shouted happily. “Hello my friend, I am pleased to see thee here.”

“Oof! S’good t’ see ye too, North.” She huffed in return, smiling as the Cossack placed her back on her feet. Like her, North hadn’t gone out of his way to dress up for the event either. He was wearing his usual clothes, his red famous coat over them, big black boots, and his brown thick-furred hat. She was pleased to note that he wore both swords at his waist too, their golden hilts gleaming in their brown leather sheaths. The Captain was not surprised to see her crew heading towards the Yetis as soon as they disembarked the ship.

“Ah, thou must be the newest Spirit. Davy Jones, yes?” An unfamiliar, feminine sounding voice asked from behind North. He stumbled aside, losing some of his exuberance for a second as his smile slipped, revealing a beautiful woman.

She was, without a doubt, Cupid. She had golden blonde hair that spiraled into loose ringlets, reaching the middle of her back. A small part of her hair was pulled back by a red barrette decorated white feathers and glittering pink jewels. She was dressed in a white, red, and pink gown that made Davy think of a Disney princess. Cupid was fair skinned and lovely, with a heart-shaped face, plump red lips, and high narrow cheekbones. Her makeup was like artwork, each dab of blush and paint accentuating her stunning features even more. Standing next to North, she looked positively tiny, although he had that effect on everyone. But she was shorter than Davy too; Cupid was probably 5’4” at the most. As if she wasn’t gorgeous enough, her eyes were colored a soft warm pink that reminded Davy of a fading sunset.

What caught most of the Captain’s attention though, was not the others Spirit’s beguiling appearance, but rather the large white downy wings coming out of her back. They were decently sized. Not small like the cherubs she’d seen in paintings and books, nor large like the ones depicted on angels. They were somewhere around the middle, like the size of her leg. They looked incredibly soft, and were whiter than any cloud she’d ever seen. For the first time since becoming a Spirit, Davy felt a ping of jealousy as she tried not to stare at Cupid’s wings. As much as she loved flying aboard the Dutchman, she’d always wondered what it would be like to fly on her own.

“Capt’n Davy Jones, if ye please.” She replied cheerily to the shorter Spirit, dipping into a theatric bow and tipping off her hat. “And on the behalf o’ me crew, may I share our gratitude for invitin’ us t’ yer ball. I hath not seen them so excited in years.” Her shipmates gave waves and nods, seemingly determined not to leave their chosen Yetis’ sides. Undine, ever the responsible one, stepped away from Phil to curtsey in greeting. The action was acknowledged with a smile, but Davy saw it turn a bit flat when Cupid turned back to her.

“Well Captain Jones, I, Amora Cupid, welcome thee and thy crew to the Valentine’s Day Ball.” Cupid’s pink eyes scrutinized her in a way that Davy hadn’t felt since she was a teenager. It was the same condescending look her mother had given her and it was just as effective. In that moment, she was hyperaware of her casual clothes, of her lack of jewelry, her rough speech, and informal manners. Unconsciously, she placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, an action that both North and Undine noticed. “Please, enjoy yourselves. Alas, thou must pardon me, I hath other guests to tend to.” The dismissal was polite, but the belittling smile she gave Davy before parting was anything but.

“O’ course.” She muttered back, straining to keep her face jovial. “We didst not mean to keep ye.”

“I shalt see thee later, Capitano?” The foreign word for captain rankled Davy in a way she couldn’t describe, like the other Spirit was disrespecting her somehow. She was certain she made a face, judging by the sharp smile Cupid had flashed at her before fluttering away. Her pure white wings flapped elegantly as she flew across the balcony and back into the castle, never once glancing back.

“I don’t like her.” Davy said plainly after a long, quiet moment. North, surprisingly, gave a muffled a snort and she looked up at him to see him beaming in amusement. As childish and petty as it might be, learning that North also disliked Cupid just endeared him to her more.

She’d gotten to visit the Cossack frequently since meeting him thirteen years ago and had come to see him as a good friend. The Yetis and Mermaids had made demands to see each other at least once a year and Davy, obviously having more free time than North, was the one who visited him more often than not. His fascination with the Dutchman had yet to die down, just as she continued to adore his sleigh. They had raced and occasionally took turns steering each other’s mode of transportation. The sleigh beat the Dutchman in maneuverability, but thanks to the Wind, her ship was faster.

“Dah, Cupid hast that effect on people.” With a hearty clap on her shoulder that sent Davy stumbling, North led her and the others into the castle. The ball room was large and very open, quite literally since the walls were made up of clouds and she could see the bright blue sky beyond them. “Come, I wilt introduce thee to others.”

Shooting a reassuring glance behind her, Davy was a bit disheartened to see that her crew had already broken away. Each Mermaid was paired off with a Yeti, thoroughly wrapped up in whatever they were doing. Most had joined the few Spirits dancing in the center of the room, instantly lost in the swaying music of the harps being played by a group of Lovebirds. Davy had paused for a moment to appreciate the fact that the birds were actually playing the instruments. Others had taken up space in little niches and alcoves throughout the chamber, already deep in the throngs of conversation. A few were perusing the banquet table in the back of the room, idly picking up food or drinks.

“Ah, Sandy!” North shouted cheerfully, dragging Davy’s attention back to the Russian. She followed his gaze, her mood brightening up instantly at seeing her oldest friend. He floated to them, a golden chalice in hand, waving frantically. “Davy, this is Sandman, a fellow Guardian.” She shared a smile with Sandy, who laughed soundlessly.

“North, I know Sandy, he wert the first Spirit I evar met.” She said as she offered a fist bump to the little man, which he returned happily. She’d accidentally made the gesture a decade back after a particularly good sparring match. Sandy had been confused at first, but had figured it out easily enough. It had eventually become something they did whenever meeting up, a special little greeting that was all their own. Davy had been rather pleased with herself when she’d realized that she’d technically invented the brofist.

North’s face, which was perhaps even more expressive than Sandy’s, stared at them in blatant disbelief. Joy quickly took over though as he gave a boisterous laugh that left his belly shaking like a bowl of jelly.

“This should not be surprising me. Sandy hast habit of knowing all Spirits.” The Cossack said heartily, sparing a wink at Sandy who grinned in response. “Tell me, how didst thou meet?”

“Let’s see, I first met Sandy a few months after being made a Spirit. I wert flyin’ the Dutchman and he wert spreadin’ dreams. We got t’ talkin’ and then I challenged him t’ a spar.” She laughed at the horrified look on North’s face. “Aye, not me brightest move, I’ll admit. But I hath gotten leagues better matey. Won’t be long till I beat him now.” Sandy rolled his eyes, his left hand making a “blah-blah” gesture that clearly meant he thought she was all talk. “Keep it up little man, one o’ these day I wilt defeat ye.”

“Oi, North, what is wrong with yer Yetis, mate? And who art the sheilas with’em? Never seen’em before.” A male Australian voice called from the left of the group. Davy quickly turned to the source, excitement kicking up at recognizing who had spoken. The Easter Bunny hopped over to them, his lithe muscular frame hunched over slightly, ears perked up as his pink nose twitched. She knew Bunny was tall, but she wasn’t quite prepared to come face to face with the blue, bipedal rabbit that was taller than her. He blinked at her curiously, ears swiveling as his grassy green eyes scanned over her and his expression turned genial. “G’day sheila, ye must be the new Spirit. Name is Bunnymund.”

“Capt’n Davy Jones, a pleasure matey.” She returned amiably, ignoring the voice that was screaming in the back of her head that tried to convince her that she was talking to Hugh Jackman. She had to remind herself that though they may share the same voice, it did not mean Bunny had any relation to Wolverine. For all she knew, Hugh Jackman may not even be born in this universe. Oh wouldn’t that be devastating news for Fox and the X-men franchise? “The women chattin’ up North’s Yetis art me crew. Seems they’re rather taken with each other.” She continued, sharing a smirk with North. “Manny’s been playin’ matchmaker.”

“No kidding? Huh. Good for them.” Bunny replied as he scratched at his ears with his hind leg.

“Bunny, how is Easter coming?” North asked and the rabbit raised a brow at him.

“Apples, mate. This wilt be my best year yet.” He answered with a challenging tone.

“Ah, is good to hear. We all know Easter is no Christmas.” The Cossack remarked nonchalantly and Davy wondered if he even realized what he’d said. It was hard to tell with North. Bunny seemed to take the slightly ambiguous sentence in the worst way that he could; going by the way he furrowed his brow and straightened his stature.

“And what is that supposed to mean, North?” The Russian blinked at Bunny’s tone, as if he had no clue why the other Spirit was suddenly irritated.

“Just what I said. Christmas is more important than Easter after all.” On the other side of them, Davy looked at Sandy, who rolled his eyes and used his sand to say that he was going to get more to drink. He floated away, the other two males oblivious to his absence as they devolved into a likely old argument about whose holiday was better. Davy waited a moment, wondering if it would be impolite to follow after the Sandman when North suddenly turned to her, blue eyes unexpectedly serious. “Fine, we wilt let Davy decide which holiday is better.”

“Do not drag the sheila into this North.” Bunny argued and the larger Spirit shook his head.

“Thou is only saying that because thou knowest Christmas is better.”

“Not bloody likely!” Bunnymund growled, glaring up at North.

“Then let Davy choose, dah?”

“Fine by me, mate.” The two Spirits turned back to Davy Jones, only to find her spot empty. Bewildered the pair looked around them, but saw no sign of the Captain. “Oi, where did the sheila wander off to?”

* * *

Davy didn’t know what had happened. One minute she stood next to North and Bunny, who’d somehow dragged her into their argument, and then the next thing she knew everything went black. For a brief instant she panicked, but then the darkness left as quickly as it had come and she found herself stumbling into a pillar.

“No dress, Davy?” Grimmons’ voice came from behind her and she whirled around, making sure to keep a hand on the pillar as she was still rather dizzy. “Forgive me for taking thee into the shadows without warning, but thou looked somewhat uncomfortable.” She scoffed at him, regaining a smile as she straightened out the lapels of her coat.

“Please matey, I would feel and look ridiculous in a dress.” She chuckled, before looking across the room to see that North and Bunny were just realizing that she was gone. Predictably, Grimm had taken refuge in a shadowed corner of the room. The closest Spirits were Coral and a Yeti she believed to be called Ethan. “Thanks for that Grimm. I don’t think I could hath gotten out o’ that conversation without upsettin’ one o’ them.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He said flatly while leaning in a little. Having known the older Spirit for most of her existence, she could tell that he was already in a foul mood.

“They wert askin’ me which holiday I thought to be better.”

“Well that is simple. Easter, obviously.” The Reaper replied and Davy studied him shrewdly, wondering if he were giving his honest opinion or just being snarky.

“I wert gonna say Christmas.” She admitted slowly and he shrugged.

“To each their own. I prefer Easter because there art less deaths in spring. Winter can be brutal and no amount of toys can fill empty stomachs.” Davy flinched at his tone and choice of words.

“Ah. Ye really hate this Ball, don’t ye?” She muttered lowly as she cast her gaze to the floor and he sighed tiredly.

“Apologies Davy.” He grunted, sounding as if he wanted nothing more than to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I had to deal with Ombric earlier. He never fails to irritate me.”

“Never ye mind. After all these years, I hath come to expect yer… grave demeanor.” She joked, smirking widely as she saw his tense shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

“Oh my friend, that wert a rotten jest.”

“Careful matey, ye don’t want t’ lose yer… decomposer.” A low snickering left the Reaper, both hands gripping his scythe tightly.

“Please stop, thou art killing me!” He chortled happily.

“To be honest Grimm, I’m jus’ happy t’… lift yer spirits!” Her friend lost the battle with his laughter. A deep baritone sound that would’ve probably made mortal men shiver echoed over the atrium. The noise carried only because there’d been a lull in conversation and the Lovebirds had just finished a song. Grimm didn’t seize up like she’d expected when all eyes turned to them. His posture was lax and his back was mostly facing the rest of the room. The puns had succeeded in loosening him up.

Unfortunately, they did not have the same effect on Davy.

While she’d never had a problem interacting with others, she wasn’t overly found of being the center of attention when she didn’t plan on it. Her sight drifted over the room, taking in the different Spirits and their reactions. Cupid caught her attention first. The host of the Ball was staring at Davy with wide eyes, her skin noticeably paler as her wings fidgeted behind her. She was afraid, but Grimm had already told Davy how the Spirit of Love felt towards him. Cupid had apparently started up a conversation with North and Bunny, the two now staring at Davy with different expressions. North seemed mostly confused while Bunny looked… angry? It was hard to tell from a distance. He could have been nervous for all she knew.

Over by the food Sandy gave a small wave before turning back to his drink, which she suspected to be alcoholic judging by the red on his cheeks and how his floating form had started to wobble. Her Mermaids, unsurprisingly, barely reacted and brushed off the whole thing. The Yetis didn’t seem to care either, nor the Lovebirds for that matter, who had begun to start up a new song. The other unknown beings watched her with interest. Two women, a ginger-haired dwarf that had to be the Leprechaun, and an old man who was definitely Father Time as he held an hourglass staff in his hands. Looking over the room again, she guessed that Will-o’-the-Wisp must have decided to skip this Ball. Not that she blamed him if Cupid had treated him the same way she had Davy.

“The dark skinned woman in the leaf-sewn dress is Matura.” Grimm intoned from beside her, his mood sobering a little bit as he spoke the other Spirit’s name.

Mother Nature was a beautiful woman of African descent. As Davy looked closer at the older Spirit, she saw that Matura was a good bit taller than her and had an athletic build if the defined muscles on her arms were anything to go by. She wore a crown of yellow flowers; a type Davy was unfamiliar with, and while her dress was indeed made out of leaves, that did little to take away from the magnificence of the dress, or of her. Matura had a regal air about her, her green eyes darker than Bunny’s, with long black hair that seemed to reach her thighs. Her face was chiseled like a foreign supermodel’s would be, and there wasn’t any makeup on her complexion, giving her that all-natural look that so few women could pull off.

If Cupid was the most beautiful Spirit, then Mother Nature was the most majestic.

It took a Davy a moment longer than it should have to realize, that whilst she’d been taking the other woman in, Matura had been looking back at her too. Their gazes met and the Captain swore she felt her breath catch somewhere in her throat.

“Come Davy, thee hath yet to try Cupid’s wine. Tis the only redeeming feature of this damnable gathering.” Grimm commented as he led her to the banquet table that Sandy was now leaning against. Didn’t he have to deliver dreams after this?  

“Yeah, alright.” She replied distractedly, as she glanced back at Mother Nature who had returned to her own conversation with Father Time. Davy swallowed nervously, unable to ignore the feeling she’d gotten from the other Spirit. For in the brief second they’d made eye contact, she could have sworn that Matura had been glaring at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um… ta-dah? Gotta be honest here, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I started writing this chapter. I knew I mainly wanted to introduce Cupid, you know, to let you get a feel for her character. She won’t be around much in the following chapters, just mentioned briefly by others, since she will have a minor role to play in things further down the storyline. Let me be clear right now in saying I’m not trying to make anyone hate Cupid. She’s just a little stuck-up, which doesn’t make her a bad person. Everyone’s got faults. 
> 
> I also wrote this because I wanted Davy to meet Bunny before the movie’s plotline, but considering that Davy is either in the water or the sky, I didn’t have many options. I’ll say it right now, Tooth probably won’t make an appearance until the movie plotline starts, so sorry Fairy fans. That last bit with Mother Nature “glaring down” Davy… yeah, that totally came to me out of left field. I won’t explain too much about it, but let me just say that I’m looking forward to when I get to really introduce Matura after the movie’s plotline. 
> 
> –Hexalys


	7. To Be Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Children see magic because they look for it.” –Christopher Moore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I fucking suck. I can’t offer much by way of apology for leaving you guys hanging for so long. Let me just say that some things happened in my life, so as a result my stories were terribly neglected for three fucking years. Still, I want to profuse my deepest gratitude to those who didn’t give up on me or were concerned for my health. So look forward to a year full of updates! 
> 
> You; Your = (Formal Use) Thou/Thee; Thy/Thine (Informal Use) Ye, Will = Wilt, Shall = Shalt, Have/Has = Hath/Hast, Were = Wert, Are = Art, Does/Did = Dost/Didst, It’s = Tis, It Was = Twas

James Rooked was the smallest eleven year old in his town. While most of the other boys in the village had gone out to sea with their fathers by the age of nine, he had been left at home with his mum and little sister, deemed too small to be of any help. Finally though, his papa had decided he was big enough to help row the boat and reel in the fisting net. It was therefore understandable for why the boy was so excited that he could hardly keep still.

He was currently waiting impatiently down by the moorings. His papa had gone to talk with the docking manager and so James tried to catch a glimpse of any fish that may have come too close to the shore. He was determined to catch the biggest fish that the village ever saw. That was sure to make his papa proud of him.

“Goin’ out on yer first sailin’, lad?” A gruff voice suddenly asked and James looked up to see an old man sitting on some netting upon a nearby crate. He was scruffy looking, caked in dirt, and the boy saw that the man was missing an eye.

“Yes sir.” He answered warily. His mother warned him about talking to strangers and this man was certainly strange looking.

“Well then, ye’d best keep a sharp eye out fer Mermaids.” The old man continued as he took out a flask from his shirt, drinking its contents and making a sour face that had the boy suppressing a laugh.

“Mermaids, sir? What sort of fish art they?” James asked interestingly, forgetting himself for a moment as he approached the stranger.

“Mermaids be no fish, boy, least not fully.” The old man grumbled. “They be women, the most beautiful ye would evar lay yer eyes on, with scaled tails ‘stead of legs.”

“They sound wonderful, sir.” James replied as he tried to imagine the creatures the old man had described.

“Aye, that they do lad, but they can be dangerous too. They lure ships aground. Takin’ the lives o’ the men onboard, sparin’ any children they find. Nobody be sure why, perhaps Davy Jones is just savin’ them fer the Locker?”

“Davy Jones?” The boy asked nervously, now that was a name he was familiar with. “Art thou speaking of the ghost pirate, sir?” The old sailor nodded, taking out a pipe and stuffing the tip with shredded pieces of tobacco. “But that is merely a story… is it not?” The man shook his head and James gulped anxiously as he eyed the water suspiciously.

“Far from it lad, Davy Jones be as real as ye and me. And the Mermaids work fer Davy Jones ya see. She sends’em out into the sea to scavenge fer poor sods who be lost ta the storms. Tho’, I have heard many a tale that the Mermaids wilt bring the children t’ shore from time t’ time.”

“She? I thought Davy Jones was a man?” James inquired; causing the old man to shake his head and give a crooked smile that revealed many missing teeth.

“Why dost ye think bringing women aboard ships be considered bad luck, lad?” The old man didn’t wait for an answer and continued. “The story be that Davy Jones wert once a beautiful woman, a countess who waited fer her betrothed to return from his voyage ta the New World. As the years passed, and with no news given o’ his fate, she hired a crew and sailed after him. A terrible storm hit their ship, the likes of which never seen before, twas as if God himself had summoned the tempest. The ship wert lost at sea, the crew and Davy Jones drowned with it.”

“What about her betrothed?” James asked.

“Well that be the kicker, eh? He wert perfectly fine. Found himself a lass lovelier than Davy Jones and settled down in the New World, livin’ as a wealthy plantation owner. Enraged in death, Davy Jones made a deal with the devil. She would harvest him new souls fer the rest o’ eternity in exchange fer damnin’ her spurned lover t’ the fiery pits o’ hell.” The old man said before taking a puff from his pipe and blowing the cloud of smoke into James’s direction, causing him to gag.

“That’s horrible.” He said after recovering and the old man nodded.

“Aye, most women art. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” James opened his mouth to argue. To say that it was the man’s fault for being unfaithful, for never even writing a letter to explain himself, but he was interrupted as his papa called for him. “Like I said lad, keep a weathered eye out fer Mermaids. And pray that ye do not meet Davy Jones.”

* * *

Davy wasn’t frequently found on the seas these days. She’d actually taken to the sky more often than not, seeing as there wasn’t much good she could do on the waters. Her long stints in the clouds took away her time from being around the crew, and Undine had talked to her more than once about the distance she was creating.

It wasn’t that Davy was trying to avoid the others for any malicious reason. She just didn’t always want to be surrounded by Mermaids who acted like teenage girls most of the time. If she had to categorize her crew, most would be those popular cheerleaders that she’d feuded with during her high school years. That didn’t mean she didn’t like her crew, that would be rather impossible after knowing them for over seventy years. They were her friends. They had her back and their endless gossiping did nothing to hinder their loyalty. Davy knew she could never find a better crew, would never want to either. And she thanked the Man in the Moon that he’d given them to her instead of leaving her to sail the seas alone.

But that didn’t change the fact that they could still get on her nerves more often than not, especially when most of their conversations seemed to revolve around her. “ _Dost thou thinkest the Captain is upset that she still hath no Believers?_ ” “ _What is happening betwixt the Captain and the Boogeyman? They hath spent much time in each other’s company._ ” “ _Is there a lover’s quarrel betwixt the Captain, North, and Pitch Black?_ ” “ _Dost thou not think the Captain would look prettier with braided hair?_ ” She couldn’t handle the not-so-quiet whispers anymore, and while Davy knew her distance would likely cause more mutterings, at least she wouldn’t have to hear about them while in the sky. Undine, Manny bless her, understood to a certain extent, but she also knew the issue went deeper than that for her Captain. One of those ridiculous whispers was true.

Davy was upset at still having no Believers.

Manny had brought her back to the year 1413, it was now 1485. Seventy-two years and not once had a human, child or adult, seen her or the Flying Dutchman. Frankly, she had no idea how Jack had managed to go three hundred years without being seen. It was absolute torture.

North and Sandy assured her it took time. Undine had told her to be patient. Only Grimm and Pitch had told her the truth instead of trying to comfort her. Not since the First Generation had there had been a Spirit who’d gone this long without a Believer. Grimm had been kinder in delivering the news than Pitch, who’d worn a slightly vindictive smile at the time, which she had, reluctantly, understood. Misery loves company after all and Pitch’s steady decline in Believers had taken their toll on the Boogeyman, leaving him angry and bitter.

Unbidden, her shipmates’ thoughts on their “relationship” came to mind and Davy allowed herself to snicker at the image of Pitch being romantically involved with anyone. Her connection with the Boogeyman wasn’t exactly one that Davy could accurately describe if asked. She knew where she stood with others. Sandy was her best friend and North had quickly become a close second. Just last week the three of them had spent several hours locked in North’s office, helping him come up with new toy ideas for next Christmas while drinking spiked eggnog and munching on sugar cookies.

Undine, while she could be stern at times, was more like a sister and the crew reminded Davy of the numerous cousins she’d had whilst alive. They would be there for her when it really mattered, but most of the time they were wrapped up in their own lives.

Grimm, oddly enough, was her confidant. She told him everything, shared her inner most thoughts and memories of her former life. He listened, offered guidance where he could, and was always updating her on things she needed to know about the world or Spirits in general. She wasn’t exactly sure what to call him, a friend definitely, but a different kind than Sandy or her crew. She could talk to him about anything, knowing that her secrets and worries were safe, that he would never judge her or tell her what to do.

Pitch was so much harder to place though. At times it seemed he only ever visited her just to ridicule Davy, and as much as she liked banter, sometimes he took it too far, much like their last conversation. It had started out pleasantly enough. She’d even managed to get the brooding Spirit to play her in a game of chess, a feat she’d only accomplished twice before. But then Undine had interrupted them halfway through to remind her that North was expecting her at his Workshop in a few hours and that she had best start heading that way if she wanted to be there on time.

Davy had waved her off and thought nothing of it. North wouldn’t mind if she were a little bit late. But after a few minutes of contemplating her next move, she’d noticed Pitch’s silence, which was weird because he always started to taunt her when she was taking too long. When Davy glanced up from the board, she’d caught him glaring at her globe; blatantly ignoring that it was now his turn. And then she’d stupidly asked what was wrong. Pitch went off on her, calling her a fool and many other names, saying how she wasn’t worth his time and promptly disappeared into the shadows before she could even form a response.

It hadn’t taken much brainstorming for her to figure out the source of Pitch’s sudden ire. He still hated the Guardians after all and he clearly didn’t like her spending time with them. Davy, for some ridiculous reason, had actually felt guilty for a few minutes before shaking it off. North and Sandy were her friends, she’d reasoned with herself. She wasn’t going to stop seeing them just because Pitch threw a temper tantrum. However, that incident had happened over three months ago and she’d yet to see a single sign of Pitch in her cabin since.

So that left the question of what Pitch was to her? Obviously his absence bothered her, but Davy hated how often he would take his anger out at her during their meetings. If there was one thing she’d learnt about the Boogeyman over the years, it was that he had a very sharp tongue. She disliked how he looked down on her most of the time or when he continuously pointed out her lack of Believers. But she enjoyed talking to Pitch more than she did anyone else; he always had something witty to say. She’d actually grown fond of his longwinded rants that ranged to just about everything, how they would sometimes debate about different topics, or when they traded creative insults because they felt too mercurial for conversation. She liked trying her hand at beating him in chess or the drinks they sometimes shared after one of her nightmares.

Pitch was an arrogant jerk, but Davy realized that was probably what she liked best about him. Because he could be clever when he wasn’t being moody, engaging when he forget he was supposed to be mad at the world, funny when his taunting was spirited instead of spiteful. She liked how his silver-gold eyes would crinkle when the left side of his mouth twitched into a smirk. How he chuckled with a closed mouth, or the way he used his hands to emphasize his point while talking.

A sudden shout from down below, one that was carried up to her by the Wind, caught Davy’s attention, shaking her out of her musings. She looked overboard and spotted a small fishing boat half-sunk in the water with two people aboard it. Fear welled up in the middle of her chest.

Davy had the Wind bring the Dutchman down and sail towards the wreckage. A boy was struggling to stay above water with one arm while his other was secured around an adult, clearly trying to keep the unconscious man from drowning. Nathan flashed to the forefront of her mind and she distantly wondered if she could handle watching another child drown in her arms.

“Hang on lad!” She shouted down to the boy, ready to rush off into her cabin and retrieve the magic conch shell Undine had given her after her run-in with Greenteeth. It acted as an emergency call that could be heard by her crew no matter where they were, letting them know that she needed their help.

“Please, please help us ma’am!” The lad called and Davy froze.

Had she heard that right? Had the boy actually seen her? She turned back to the sea and sure enough, the lad was looking up at her and swimming towards her ship. Elation like she’d never known seemed to build in her stomach. The emotion was so strong it almost made Davy burst into laughter. Pushing her excitement aside was hard, but she managed it and grabbed the nearest rope before throwing it overboard.

“Tie that around yerselves!” She called down, still half-expecting the child to not hear her. Amazingly the lad did just as she’d instructed. ‘ _He really can see me! I have a Believer!_ ’ She pulled both the boy and adult up, getting some help from the Wind, and stepped back as the lad instantly tended to the man who seemed to be fine besides the slight cut on his head. “Ye alright lad?” He looked up at her with big brown eyes, tears building in their corners as he bit his trembling lower lip. Davy laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to comfort him and was only slightly surprised when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “S’okay lad, I hath ye. Ye didst good. Yer both safe now.”

It took some minutes for the boy to calm down after his harrowing experience. Davy patted his back patiently, humming a jaunty sailor tune she’d learned a few years ago as the boy’s sniffles subsided. And as much as she didn’t want to, Davy stepped away from the hug and looked over her first Believer, drinking in the sight of him. The lad wasn’t as young as Nathan had been, she could tell that right away. Perhaps he was a few years older, but he was also short. His hair was blonde and pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had a white shirt with a plain oversized tan vest, torn brown britches, and a pair of simple cloth shoes.

“What be yer name lad?” She asked softly and he bit his lip again before answering.

“James Rooked, ma’am.” He watched her with widening eyes, his face morphing into an emotion that had rarely ever been directed at her.

Fear.

Not for the first time Davy cursed Manny for the changes he’d made to her body. Blue hair was already foreboding for this superstitious era, but the pointy ears, scales, and fins were the sure to get her pegged as a demon or some other monster. The boy pulled away quickly while shaking like a leaf, and retreated to the sleeping man who was likely his father judging by their similar traits. Davy cast a scrutinizing look at the unconscious adult. The cut on his head was already starting to clot, but she knew that head injuries were always tricky.

“Well Jimmy, count yerself fortunate that I wert sailin’ by. No Mermaid would hath come through this area for another few hours.” James stiffened and curled protectively over his old man, shaking the entire time as he kept a death grip on his father’s shirt. Davy felt her heart breaking at the sight of the boy’s fearful glare, his eyes brimming with new tears. Here was her first Believer and he clearly wanted nothing to do with her. “My name be Capt’n Davy Jones.”

“Art– art thou goest to t-take our souls to h-hell?” James stuttered over his words, looking even more terrified now that she’d introduced herself.

“What? No! Where didst ya hear a fool thing like that?” She asked, appalled that the boy thought she could even do such a thing. He blinked in surprise, clearly having expected a much different response. “Lad, I take people back t’ shore. I don’t send’em t’ hell.” Davy didn’t bother to mention that there was no hell. Religion, no matter what century, would always be a touchy subject.

“But that sailor said–”

“Forget what that codfish said and listen t’ what I be tellin’ ya now.” She growled, unintentionally making the boy flinch, which she instantly regretted. She took a deep breath and tried to look less distressed than she felt. “Look lad, me job be t’ find those who art lost at sea and return them t’ land, safely. Me Mermaids help in the task as well.” James narrowed his eyes at her, whether in thought or suspicion, Davy had no idea. “Don’t believe me, eh?” He looked down at the deck; his silence was more than answer enough. She tried not to feel so defeated as her gaze drifted to the sky. “What didst that damn sailor say?” She didn’t mean to curse in front of the kid, it just slipped out. James looked up at her as if she’d done something reprehensible. Oh right, cursing, especially saying damn or taking the lord’s name in vain, was considered a big faux pas in this era too.

“He said… that thou wert once a beautiful woman promised to wed a man who sailed to the New World. After years with no word, thou hired a crew to search for him and drowned at sea. In death thou spirit learnt that thy betrothed wert already married and living happily… So thou madest a deal with the devil, who took the man’s soul… and promised to bring him those lost at sea for the rest of eternity.” Not once did James’ eyes rise from his father as he spoke, his words haltingly coming out as barely more than a whisper.

Davy couldn’t help it. She burst into a fit of laughter. James flinched and she quickly tried to reign herself in.

“That hast t’ be–” She coughed to keep herself from snickering further. “The most ridiculous thing I hath evar heard.” James looked thoroughly confused by her reaction. “Jimbo, I hath nevar been in love before and I hath certainly nevar been betrothed.” Davy plopped herself down on the deck, legs sprawled out as she pulled her hat off to run a hand through her hair, chuckling under her breath. “Sailors be such a superstitious lot. The stories they come up with, I swear.”

“So… tis not true?” James asked hesitantly and Davy couldn’t help but start laughing again. She was glad to see that the boy seemed to relax at the sound instead of tensing further.

“Nope, but I give the man points for tyrin’.” She half-wondered if most people believed that story. If so, she shouldn’t expect many warm welcomes in the future. How disheartening and ironic. She’d wanted people to know her, but not as the proverbial boogieman of the ocean. Would Pitch laugh at her situation or hate her for taking his fear? “A scorned lover sellin’ her soul t’ the devil, cursed ta sail the seas for all time. Tis not an unfamiliar tale, but it most certainly is not mine.” It strangely reminded her of the Pirates of the Caribbean’s backstory for their rendition of Davy Jones though.

“So thou art going to take me and my pa back home?” From his accent, Davy guessed that James was of English decent. It was thicker than Pitch’s drawl, less articulate, but she was just counting her blessings that he spoke English. Despite her years as a Spirit, Davy knew very little when it came to other languages. She could speak some French, but not much else.

“Sure am lad, just tell me where and the Dutchman wilt get us thar soon enough.” She answered easily before pulling herself to her feet. “But first we best get yer dad into me cabin, a bed would be much better for him than the deck.” Without thinking Davy reached forwards to carry the man, hissing as her hands went through his shoulders and quickly jerked them back to her chest.

“Thou cannot touch him!?” James gasped and the Captain frowned as she rubbed her hands together, trying to get rid of the stinging pain that coursed through her skin. “Why not? Art thee truly a ghost after all?”

“I can only touch people who Believe in me.” She sighed sadly. “C’mon Jimbo, ye wilt hath ta carry him.” James struggled under his father’s weight and ended up having to drag him to the cabin. Getting him onto the bed had almost been an impossible task, but somehow the lad managed it. James placed himself firmly at his father’s feet, warily watching Davy as she moved about the room. “Where dost ye live, lad?”

“In Ipswich ma’am, tis a fishing village near–” He cut himself off with a yawn and Davy smiled at him slightly.

“I know where it be. Rest, it shalt only take a little longer before yer back home.” She left the room to let James lay down next to his father. It wasn’t the happy meeting that she’d been dreaming of for the past seventy years, but she could make it work.

The only thing that mattered was that she had a Believer.

* * *

Pitch scowled as he appeared in the Captain’s cabin. His last visit had left a sour taste in his mouth and he’d kept his distance for nearly four months. Strangely though, he’d felt compelled to check on the woman during that time, especially since she hadn’t been having her usual bad dreams as of late.

He was therefore surprised to find that she was not in her cabin, which left him feeling wrong-footed. Every visit he’d made, the woman had been in her room, waiting as though she had sensed his impending arrival. He’d always found it annoying before, but seeing the woman not in her proper place was far more vexing. Laughter from beyond the room caught his attention and he cautiously slipped into the shadows before appearing on the deck while still remaining hidden. The sight that greeted him left the Boogeyman feeling too stunned to move.

There was a boy wearing ostentatious pirate garb and swinging a wooden sword about as the Captain blocked and countered.

Pitch felt something inside of him twist into a knot and the world seemed to teeter around him. The woman said something, his hearing was strangely too muffled to understand what it was, and the child laughed in response. The boy could see her. This thought was slow to come into place, a fact Pitch found hard to comprehend. Davy Jones did not have Believers. A less subjective part of himself did not understand where this denial was coming from. Had he truly thought that the Captain would never gain Believers of her own? No, of course not, that would’ve been foolishly naïve. But then why was he so surprised? Why did he feel… uneasy?

Without noticing it, Pitch had stepped out of the shadows, belatedly realizing that he was trembling from anger as he glowered at the child who paid no heed to his presence. ‘ _He… cannot see me._ ’ That thought, that silent truth, contained the words that Pitch came to hate the most in the world. He hadn’t thought them for centuries, for if a child didn’t Believe in him, then he still had thousands of others who did. One child was of no consequence. Yet now his numbers had diminished so much that it was laughable and suddenly every child mattered.

The Captain spotted him, as only she could, but Pitch felt too dazed by everything to even think about hiding. She stared for a long few seconds, before a wide smile split across her face. Unexpectedly, something within his stomach responded to her beaming expression. Pitch could only describe it as his insides wiggling restlessly, but it was too unfamiliar of a sensation for him to properly identify. It wasn’t painful, but it left his mouth oddly dry, swallowing became uncomfortable, and his palms were starting to sweat. The Boogeyman glared at the woman, certain that she was the cause, and tried to push the foreign feelings aside.

“Pitch, come join us! This scallywag be after me ship and me treasure!” The Captain called cheerfully and the boy turned to look at him, eyes baring confusion as he saw nothing. Pitch refused to feel the sting that came with being unseen. “Remember me telling ye about the Boogeyman?” She said to the little sea urchin who nodded meekly in response, swiftly accompanied with a growing fear of being in the Boogeyman’s presence. “Then jus’ picture him in yer head. Believe in him like ya do me.” The child closed his eyes, hands gripping his wooden sword tightly while muttering under his breath.

Pitch remained where he was, uncertain of what was going on. The woman was trying to get the brat to Believe in him, but for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. The Captain owed him nothing and if she felt such an act would leave him indebted to her, than she had another thing coming. A sharp gasp broke his musings along with a newborn terror that came from seeing the Boogeyman himself.

“Hey, he dost not hath fangs!” The boy shouted after a moment and Pitch reeled back a little, started as the boy’s eyes followed his movement warily.

“Thou canst see me?” The child nodded shakily, licking his lips in obvious worry, and the Captain playfully nudged the boy’s shoulder. Pitch felt all the tension drain out of his body at the sensation of gaining another Believer, but he frowned, feeling very unsure of the situation. “Fangs?” The boy’s face scrunched up sourly, his fear calming a little as the woman snickered before poking the back of his head in a teasing manner.

“I thought the Boogeyman would be really big, with sharp fangs and claws.” The child mumbled in response and Pitch nodded. Most children expected something more grandiose than his true appearance and that was how he preferred it. A child’s imagination was such a powerful thing after all. “Davy kept changing her story about what thee looked like. Last time she said thou hadst the fangs of a wolf.”

“All the better t’ eat ya with me dear.” The Captain chuckled as the boy glared at her. She indulged the brat by patting his head before turning to back Pitch. Her smile dimmed a little, hesitating before becoming something more genuine and the wiggling returned to his stomach, making him shift uncomfortably. “Pitch, meet James Rooked, my first Believer.”

Pitch didn’t bother took look over at the boy, but kept his gaze locked on the woman. The loss she’d felt for that one child from so long ago had lessened. She stood taller, as if she’d shed a heavy burden. It was almost as if she was glowing. The Captain looked happier than she had in decades and the anger Pitch had felt earlier was all but gone, replaced with a smidgen of gratitude towards the boy. Jones was better now that she had a Believer and for whatever reason, she’d even decided to share that Belief with him.

He wasn’t sure what to do next though. He was the Boogeyman, fear embodied. He didn’t play make-believe with children, he terrified them. Looking at the Captain, he kept his expression decisively bland and she winked at him before turning back to the child. Pitch was appalled and utterly mortified to feel his face heat up. How dare this woman act so, so… shamelessly and make him feel so uncomfortable. Fortunately, Jones missed his rare moment of humiliation. However, the sea urchin did not. The boy was stifling his giggles in a way that made Pitch want to throw the irksome brat into the closest ravine, hopefully one that was bottomless.

“How dost ye like t’ play the bad guy, Pitch?” Jones asked happily, interrupting his glaring at the child. He paused for a moment to stare at her incredulously, vaguely noticing that the child was gaping at Jones as well, before managing to reclaim his composure. He glowered at her smiling face and crossed his arms behind his back before turning around, heading towards the shadows.

“Hmph, I hath neither the time nor the idiocy to be bothered with such absurdities.” Still feeling slightly perturbed, Pitch was fully prepared to return to home. Honestly, how daft was the woman? Asking him of all creatures to play with a child! She was worse than North. Well, perhaps not. That lout had asked him to join the Guardians after all. He scoffed, a bit of resentment returning to him as he remembered why he’d avoided Jones for the past four months. It was no wonder she sought after North’s company, small minds think alike.

“Oh, okay, I understand. The villain would hath t’ be scary after all and ye’ve been out o’ practice for a while.” He froze as he heard her obvious insinuation, one foot already swarmed in the darkness. “If ya cannot do it, tis fine. I do not blame thee.”

“Art thee implying that I, the Boogeyman, am not scary enough to participate in thou foolish game?” She shrugged. Oh he easily caught on to what she was doing, the manipulative wench, and curse his pride for making him retaliate. Pitch summoned the shadows forwards, commanding it to take the shape of a Kraken. Its monstrous silhouette sprawled across the deck and its tentacles reached out at everything. The brat retreated behind the woman, shivering as he stared at the monster with horrified eyes. Fear spilled forth from the child like a tidal wave and Pitch let himself laugh at the two, feeling absolutely euphoric. Jones though, merely smiled in response. There wasn’t even an ounce of fear directed towards him, but rather a lesser concern that he might take advantage of the boy’s Belief.

“Come Capt’n Rooked, we shalt hath t’ put our fighting aside.” She raised her sword and even though fear radiated from the boy, he did the same. A determined look built in the child’s eye, one that only grew as Jones laughed. “We hath a beastie ta slay!”

* * *

Davy waved goodbye to James as the Flying Dutchman took to the air. After their initial meeting a few weeks ago, she and the lad had quickly grown rather close. When James and his father had arrived back in Ipswich without their boat, they’d caused quite a commotion, especially since the boy had apparently told anyone who would listen that it was Davy Jones who’d saved them from a watery grave.

Most of the children younger than James instantly believed his story, including his little sister Mary. When she’d arrived in Ipswich two days later, Davy was greeted by a small circle of ten children who’d stared in awe at her and the Dutchman. She’d played pirate with them and for the first time in decades, she’d felt completely content. Of course James was still her favorite, whom she knew she owed her knew Believers to.

While none of the adults had been able to see Davy, clearly hesitant to believe the words of a child, that didn’t stop them from making her the subject of many passing conversations. The sailors who visited Ipswich in the following weeks, true to their nature, began spreading her tale to others. They talked of her unusual appearance that the children described in great detail, speculated about what the Dutchman looked like, and most importantly, they spoke of how she’d saved James and his father.

Pitch may enjoy it, but Davy didn’t want anyone to be afraid of her.

“Bye Davy, bye Mister Black! Next time we must play with Mary too!” James yelled as she flew over the town and headed back to the sea. A few of the children called up to her as she passed and Davy returned their greetings happily. Pitch remained unusually silent at her side.

She shot a glance at the dark Spirit, unsure of how to begin their overdue conversation. He’d surprisingly been a very good addition in their little game of make-believe, not that he’d want to hear it. Davy had been afraid at first that he would’ve taken things too far, that Pitch might have tried to truly scare James. Not a feat that would have been too hard. James was a very skittish boy. Of course he’d still scared the lad from time to time throughout their game, but as she’d always said, what was adventure without a little fear? Besides, if it came down to it, she wouldn’t have let anything bad happen to James and the boy knew it.

“Now that matey, was a damn good day.” She sighed happily and Pitch still said nothing. “We wilt hath t’ do that again soon, I think Jimbo really enjoyed it. Maybe not with Mary tho’. The lass only be five.”

“Why?” Pitch’s question was so quiet, Davy wondered if he hadn’t meant for her to hear it.

“Why not?” She replied with a shrug and his face twisted into a scowl, clearly unhappy with her answer.

“Why didst thou instill that child’s Belief in me, Jones?” Davy stared at him, stunned. That was the first time Pitch had ever called her by name. Before, he’d usually addressed her as “Captain” or the ever belittling “woman” when he felt particularly irritated with her. “I am not like North, nor the others. I do not possess dreams or toys. I bring fear, I–”

“Ye bring safety and common sense.” She interrupted firmly. “The Guardians hath pleasant things t’ give the children. Wonder, Dreams, Hope, they help kids see the world in a better light. But we know better, don’t we Pitch?” She turned away from the man as she spoke, looking out at the sea. The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the sky a mesh of beautiful colors filled with reds, pinks, and deep purples. “The world, more often than not, can be cruel and dark.”

“Oh? Thou thinkest thou art not like the Guardians? Didst thou not waste the day catering to the whims of a child.” Pitch sneered and Davy smirked teasingly.

“So did ye.” He snarled wordlessly, but didn’t deny it. “Me purpose is t’ make sure children dost not die Pitch. Is that not a grim responsibility? Yers be t’ scare’em so they know not t’ venture into the woods alone or ta be wary o’ heights so they don’t fall. Ye help them survive. In that way, ye and I be more alike than any o’ the others.” When she turned back to Pitch minutes later, Davy was not surprised to see that he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the whole point of this chapter was to show you Davy’s first Believer and how her tale began to spread. I’ve always envisioned that in the Guardians’ Verse stories about certain Spirits are different to our own. I mean, the Burgess kids knew who the Sandman was and Believed in him, which struck me as weird. I don’t know about you, but I never thought he was real when I was a kid. I did think Jack Frost was real for a time though, after watching the holiday special produced by Rankin/Bass. People of the past were extremely superstitious. I don’t find it hard to believe that some adults would take Davy as a legitimate thing, just like how they believed in Krakens, Mermaids, and other creatures. 
> 
> We’ve finally gotten a decent time skip to see how Davy’s and Pitch’s relationship has evolved. I figured that Pitch would have no idea what if felt like to have a crush on someone, seeing as how bad he is with people. You know that famous butterflies in the stomach sensation? Well Pitch described it as ‘wiggling’. Really, I just found that too adorable.
> 
> Side note for anyone who’s ever seen Disney’s Treasure Planet, you can probably recognize the endearment Jimbo for what it is. I’ve kind of been drawing Davy’s speech and ideas from movies with pirates, the most obvious being Pirates of the Caribbean.
> 
> –Hexalys


End file.
